


El Diablo

by lilbonnieparker



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST!, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Antonio is a dick, Dark Spain (Hetalia), Francis and Gilbert exist too, Lowkey long chapters tho, M/M, Not a very happy beginning, Poor South Italy (Hetalia), Really bad Spanish and Italian translations, Shithead Romano, Spain, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbonnieparker/pseuds/lilbonnieparker
Summary: Lovino Vargas was a poor man, son of a poor man, who was the son of a poor man. King Antonio Fernández Carriedo of the Spanish Empire lived an affluent, spoiled existence.What the King wanted, he was awarded.Even if what he wanted was total control over another man's life.
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 143





	1. Imagina Eso

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know what you're thinking. Why is she starting another work when she already has three in progress????? Well, this is another one of the 20 million half-written fanfictions that exist in my Google Drive from high school, so I thought I might as well post it here because honestly I love it and I love them. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy <3 
> 
> \- Note: All translations are courtesy of Google. If anything is poorly worded/incorrect, please let me know, and I will fix it.

Snow fell softly to the ground, covering the surface with a sparkling white layer. It hadn’t snowed like this in years, at least not in southern Spain. Lovino Vargas, tailor’s apprentice, kept his eyes low as he trudged down the street. Each step was slower as it became more and more difficult to navigate his way, more and more difficult to move his feet through the snow, more and more difficult to feel anything other than the bitter cold biting at his hands and feet. _It won’t be like this forever,_ his mind spoke to him. Lovino replied, _but is that a good or bad thing?_

Taking hold of the frosty door handle, Lovino entered the small shop and basked in the warmth that welcomed him. Feliciano had gotten here long before he had and had started a fire, fortunately. A very tired and very cold Lovino sat directly in a cushioned chair, letting out a sigh and peeling off his partially wet gloves. Feliciano emerged from the back room, a half-sewn garment thrown over his shoulder. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Ready to work?”

“I’d rather cut off my own foot,” Lovino mumbled in dismay. “But I fear that might have to happen anyway, what with all the frostbite I surely have.”

Feliciano smiled but rolled his eyes, patting Lovino on the head. Lovino swatted his hand away. “It was only a ten-minute walk.”

“In this weather, ten minutes feels like a year.”

Feliciano was a far better tailor, and far sweeter, and, Lovino thought, far more naive than he was. Lovino wasn’t jealous of Feliciano. He didn’t want to be anything like him. Lovino _was_ a bit jealous, though, of the attention that Feliciano received. Feliciano was much more well-liked, but that wasn’t really a surprise. He was kind, and because he always wore that goofy smile, people were constantly talking about how handsome he was. Lovino thought it was a bunch of shit; they were identical twins. 

Lovino went to work, finishing up a pair of pants and moving on to a chemise. The sun began to peek through the windows and Lovino hoped it would begin to melt the snow. He set down his needle and stared outside, watching the sunrise. Something caught his eye in the distance, further on down the street. Curious, he moved to see more. A young man, about his age, was standing in the street. He was waving his arms and seemed to be yelling something. Lovino’s heart pounded. _Stop that,_ he yelled in his mind. _Get out of the street! How stupid could you be?_

Suddenly, a man in a dark uniform appeared. He wasted no time. He shot the man down in the middle of the street, and Lovino’s heart stopped as he gasped. Eyes wide, he couldn’t look away. _I told you to get out of the street. Why didn’t you listen to me?_

Crimson blood poured out into the snow. Lovino touched his fingertips to the icy window pane. People began to emerge from their homes, but the soldier man barked something at them and they retreated inside. He and another soldier dragged the body away, and Lovino realized he had forgotten to breathe.

“ _Fratello_? What is it?” Feliciano’s voice pulled him back, and soon, the slightly younger Italian was pressed up against his older brother’s shoulder, trying to peer outside. Lovino pushed him back in an instant, wanting to shield his eyes from the event. 

“Nothing, Feliciano. Here, why don’t you go wake _Nonno._ He’s slept in pretty late.” Lovino ordered, guiding him to the stairs. Feliciano looked at him in suspicion but did as asked, retreating up to his grandfather’s bedroom. Lovino hesitantly went back to working, slightly shaky fingers producing slightly shaky results as he stitched a sleeve to the bodice. 

It was another few minutes before Lovino saw or heard from Feliciano. As he began to wonder what was taking them so long to come back down, a crash sounded from the floor above him. Lovino stopped sewing and snapped his attention to the staircase in unease. “Feliciano?” He called. No reply. Lovino stood, pursing his lips, and tried again. “Feliciano!”

He heard the floor creak above and then slow footsteps on the stairs. “Lovino,” Feliciano’s voice replied, but it was small and unsteady. Although Lovino could not see him, he knew that Feliciano’s eyes were welled with tears. 

Anticipation thumped in Lovino’s chest. “What’s wrong Feliciano? What’s wrong?” He asked, hand on the railing. The stairwell got darker as it ascended upward, and Lovino could only make out the figure of his brother with arms wrapped around himself. In a way, of course, Lovino knew what was wrong. He continued climbing the steps, getting closer and closer to Feliciano. 

“He’s not answering me, Lovi,” Feliciano murmured, voice breaking. “I tried to shake him awake and he just didn’t answer me. He was fine yesterday, he-…”

Lovino reached his brother and saw the tears glistening in his eyes. Solemnly, Lovino pushed past him and into the bedroom. Sun shined through partially closed curtains. The smell of dust and linens filled the air. Very few objects inhabited the room; a bare desk, a chest, and a bed. On that bed lay Lovino’s dead grandfather, looking only sound asleep, a light expression on his worn face. Lovino came closer to him, the room eerily quiet. All that could be heard was Feliciano’s light sniffling outside the door. Gently, Lovino placed his hand atop his grandfather’s, feeling the softness of his skin and the creases of the wrinkles. His grandfather had been a hard-working man, and Lovino owed everything he knew to him. As upsetting as this was for the brothers, they’d known this would happen soon. _Nonno_ had been sick for months, and only growing worse with each day. 

“We’ll make arrangements for him,” Lovino said softly, making it a point to show little emotion on his expression. He wanted to be strong for Feliciano. He needed to be strong for himself. “He should be buried by _mamma e papà._ That’s… what he would have wanted, I think.”

Feliciano, behind him, only let out a small sob. Lovino heard him retreating down the stairs, probably overwhelmed. Lovino couldn’t blame him. They were truly on their own for the first time in their lives. The man who had raised them, the man who had taught them and loved them, was gone. _Deep breaths._ He reminded himself. _Deep breaths._

The body was collected within the next few hours, and Feliciano kept to himself for the most part. Lovino had tried half-assedly to coax him out of his shell with promises of food or games, but Feliciano had only smiled at him sadly and gone back to working. Decidedly, Lovino went back up to his grandfather’s room and shut the curtains and the door. He’d deal with that later. 

Lovino began a pot of soup over the fire. People would bustle around outside, chattering and making the rounds despite the snow. Children ran and chased one another. Bells tolled from the church. Lovino wondered how, on a day so monumental in his eyes, the world could continue on as if nothing had happened at all. He shook his head and continued to stir the pot. A room away, his slightly younger brother was slaving away, but Lovino knew it was only a tactic to take his mind off of the events of that day. When they sat together at the small table in the sitting room and silently ate their soup, Lovino understood. Feliciano was more affected by this than he was, but Feliciano was a more sentimental person regardless. Lovino would just do what he did best; push aside the situation and persevere. 

It was sundown and the two brothers were closing up shop. Lovino had gone to alert the village council, the constable, that his grandfather, head of the Vargas family, was dead. Lovino would rightfully take over as the eldest surviving male, and the entire process was uneventful. He was handed a few documents, a death certificate for his grandfather and a deed of rights to everything his grandfather owned, which was not much. 

Luckily, the brothers did most of the tasks around the shop anyway, and so they knew how to get everything in order even without _Nonno_ being there. Just as Lovino was removing his gloves and boots, a loud knock sounded at the wooden door. Lovino turned his attention to the noise, glancing momentarily at Feliciano, who’d not noticed the noise. He was too engrossed in his novel. Lovino moved to open the door, expecting it to be one of his _Nonno’s_ many friends coming to voice their grieving. 

Cold air swept inside the room. A soldier in the dark uniform of the Spanish royalty stood in front of him. Behind this soldier stood another soldier, and behind him, another. Lovino’s eyes moved between each of them, confusion rising in his throat. 

“Can I help you?” Lovino asked, hand remaining on the door handle. 

“Lovino Vargas,” the first soldier spoke. “Eldest of the remaining Vargas family, correct?” 

Lovino shifted his weight and began to feel his pulse accelerate. “Yes. What is this about? My grandfather was already taken-”

“You’ll need to come with us. You may either come of your own free will or be escorted in a most unpleasant manner. Regardless, you will comply. Am I understood, Mr. Vargas?”

Lovino looked at the soldier as if he’d just sprouted another head. Then, Lovino turned to look at his brother, who was now standing about five feet away, eyes wide in fear. “What have I done wrong?” Lovino asked, eyes scanning the stonelike faces of the soldiers for any clues. “I’ve not broken any law. I’ve not disrespected the King. I’ve not-”

“Silence,” the first soldier ordered. “Your brother will stay here. You will come with us. If you refuse, both of you will die. I suggest…” he leaned in closer, the serious expression never leaving his face. Lovino noticed the hand that rested lighting on the handle of a holstered sword. “...that you do not put up a fight.”

“Lovino? Lovino, what’s happening? Where are you going?” Feliciano’s frightened voice pleaded, the younger man suddenly at his side and clutching his arm. “Lovi, who are these men?”

“Everything's fine. Everything is okay. I want you to go inside, okay? I’ll be there soon,” Lovino comforted him, sternness present in his voice only so Feliciano would obey. Feliciano looked at him with desperation. “Go, Feli. Go now, alright?”

A slow and hesitant nod. Feliciano gave his arm a squeeze, spared the guards one last terrified glance, and headed inside from the snow. 

“We can go now.” Lovino breathed. His heart was pounding. His mind could not function. He had so many questions, but no time for answers. If asking them meant that Feliciano would be killed, Lovino would rather remain in the dark for the rest of his life. A lump formed in his throat as he thought about the fact that he may never see his brother again. His shaky fingers locked up the shop, then he gave a curt nod to the guards. 

Lovino was escorted through the village square and into the forest. When they were out of sight of the people, a blindfold was roughly tied around his eyes. Lovino cursed, but was shoved forward and ordered to continue walking. He didn’t know how far they walked, but his toes and face were frozen when they finally reached what Lovino found to be a carriage. 

“Where are you taking me?” Lovino demanded, but he received no answer. _“Stronzi,_ I asked you where you are taking me!”  
Lovino still could not see, but he could definitely feel the blunt force that smacked into his head. “Stop speaking. The only reason we have not cut your tongue out is because the King ordered that you be unharmed. I hope you will appreciate our kindness.”

Lovino was forced inside of the carriage, and he felt the presence of at least two other people. “What does the King want from me? I have no business with him! I am only a commoner, I sew fucking _trousers_!” He rambled, struggling as his hands were tied behind his back. 

“ _Este hijo de puta habla mucho. Nobleza, mi culo. Se ve como un perro sin hogar,”_ The man to Lovino’s side spoke, clear annoyance in his voice. Lovino cursed himself for having never learned Spanish. In his village, everyone spoke Italian, or some form of it. Still, he could pick up on a few terms. _Nobleza_ meant nobility. _Perro_ meant dog. _Puta_ meant bitch and _Culo_ meant ass; Lovino wasn’t very sure what the two had to do with each other. 

The carriage ride was uncomfortable and long. Occasionally, the soldiers would converse amongst themselves, but Lovino had given up on trying to decipher what they were saying. At one point, the road grew less bumpy, and soon it was as if they were riding atop smooth ice. In his mind, Lovino tried to determine what the purpose of this practical kidnapping might be. Was he coming here to die? Did the King want his land, his money? Lovino had very little to offer. Was the King worried that he was a Revolutionary? Lovino wasn’t. He had some disdain toward the King for the treatment of his people, but he was not trying to get himself killed by speaking out about it. He was friends with some Revolutionaries, though. Lovino prayed he would not get punished for this. More so than he was scared for himself, Lovino feared for his brother. He knew Feliciano was probably a nervous wreck. Lovino hoped his brother had gone to Ludwig Beilschmidt’s; as much as Lovino disliked that man, Ludwig would keep Feliciano safe, and calm his nerves. 

Lovino was about to doze off against his own will when the carriage came to a halt. He lurched forward, but was pushed back by brute hands on his shoulders. More Spanish flew between the men inside of the carriage, but Lovino could also hear men talking outside of the carriage. He struggled against the ropes that tied his wrists together. “Untie me, you ugly pricks! I’m not going to run away with you threatening my brother’s life!” He hissed. Finally, the blindfold was ripped off of his head, and the light nearly blinded him. Lovino winced into himself, closing his eyes and slowly reopening them.

“Get out,” one of the soldiers said. The carriage door was opened swiftly and Lovino tried to protest. “Get out.” The Spaniard simply said again, roughly shoving Lovino outside of the carriage. Lovino tumbled out, nearly falling over. When he got a look at his surroundings, he realized he was standing in the courtyard of the palace, the one he’d only seen paintings of. Frantically, he looked around, trying to drink as much of the sight in as he could. He’d never seen a more magnificent building in his entire life. As he took note of the well-kept garden with exotic flowers, the towering buildings with arches and gigantic windows, the detailing and the fountains and all of the many columns, one thought remained on his mind. _The King lives here, and his people live without food._

Lovino was ushered inside. He didn’t have much time to look around at the interior of the palace before he was escorted into a nearby room. It was painted red, with wooden floors and a few elaborate couches. Lovino began to ask why he was here again but the soldiers left and locked the door behind them. Lovino was alone, his hands still tied behind his back, and more than anything, he was tired. Cautiously, Lovino sat on a red couch, considering if it would be worth it to try to break out a window and run. _I’d be found in no time,_ he decided, taking a look at all of the expensively-dressed people walking and chatting in the courtyard. 

It was another probably thirty minutes before those large wooden doors opened again. Lovino looked up quickly, eyes zeroing in on the figure in the doorway. Outside the door, someone was saying, “ _Ten cuidado, Su Majestad. Él podría atacarte.”_

 _The King!_ The man in the doorway turned his head to look at the voice talking to him.

“No, he won’t do that.” Then, he entered the room fully and closed the door behind him. Lovino glared at him intensely; he’d never seen the King, not even paintings, and yet he’d been dragged from his home at this man’s command. Lovino took this moment to get a good look at the mysterious man in front of him. It was almost like _the King_ wasn’t a real person, just an idea. Nobody ever saw the King. Nobody ever heard from him directly. And now, Lovino could see why.

_He’s incredibly young!_

The man standing in front of Lovino was not much older than he, maybe in his late twenties. He was tall, with long chestnut hair that was pulled back away from his face. He wore red trousers and brown leather shoes, a gold-embroidered vest, and a flowy white undershirt underneath. He had a strong face, and resembled his father, but with smoother skin and younger eyes. He had the same stern look, but with a hint of mischievousness. 

“Lovino Vargas,” the man finally spoke. His voice was thick and smooth like chocolate. “How was your journey here?”

Lovino felt himself growing angrier with every second he had to look at this man’s face. “Why am I here?” He asked, standing from the couch. “Why have you forced me here and bound me, but now address me like I’m a willing visitor?” 

The King smiled, but it was not a kind one. It showed that he was amused with Lovino’s frustration, and Lovino swore he saw the devil in this man’s eyes. “Lovino Vargas,” the King addressed him again, slowly walking toward him. “Tell me the names of your family.”

“My family?” Lovino asked, confused. Then, “Why would I do that? So you can kill them all after you kill me? Or maybe just so you can send them a letter offering your _sincerest condolences_ after you knock me dead like a criminal?” 

“My, you do have a temper,” said the King, shaking his head slightly and ‘tsk’ing his tongue. “I am not going to kill you, but if you continue to run your mouth like a child, I might. I asked you for the names of your family, I am not going to ask again. I need to verify your identity. Answer me now, or I will beat you until you do.” 

Lovino stepped back uneasily. Fear ran down his spine. This man was saying these threats but looking at him rather calmly, almost joyfully. _He’s psychotic!_ “What do you want from me?” Lovino asked, his voice quieter. “I’ve done nothing wrong. My brother had his life threatened, and we’ve done nothing wrong. Just let me go home.”

The King crossed his arms, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “Poor Lovino. This _is_ your home. You’ve no idea, do you? You used to run around this very palace. Of course, you were probably much too young to remember that now… Not that I do, either. These are just the stories I’m told,” the King was animating every word with hand gestures and tilts of his head. Lovino squinted his eyes in confusion; surely, this man was crazy, but not _this_ crazy. 

“You’ve got the wrong person,” Lovino snapped. “I’m poor, son of a poor man, who was the son of a poor man. I live in a small village, my family is from Rome. I sew clothing for a living and I barely eat more than bread and vegetables. I’ve never seen you before in my life, or any of the people here, or anything inside or outside of this palace. I want to go home to my brother. I don’t know who or what you are looking for, but it isn’t me.” 

The King only stared at him, face blank. Lovino was breathing hard. He hadn’t yelled, or shouted, or cursed, but his words had been passionate. He suddenly felt extremely tired again, and wanted badly to sit on the couch next to him, but that would show weakness. So, instead, he glared at the man in front of him, watching the emotions in those green eyes shift and change. 

“You are almost a figment of my imagination,” the man finally said, chuckling softly. “I can’t decide if I want to have you killed or not. You’re rather interesting, but you’re related to me, so how could you not be? _Imagina eso-”_

 _“Related?”_ Lovino interrupted. “I am not related to you, _idiota!_ I don’t even _know_ you!”

“You have a very bad temper. I hope you realize who you are speaking to, Vargas,” the King bit, his expression suddenly turning sour. He grabbed Lovino by the upper arm, fingers digging into Lovino’s olive skin. “You asked if you came here to be killed. I told you no. But believe me, I could have that arranged, _cousin.”_

Lovino’s eyes went wide once again. He felt the dull sting of the man’s nails in his skin. The King was incredibly close to him, their faces inches apart, and Lovino could feel the other’s breath on his face. The King, apparently, could change his mood very quickly. Lovino ripped his arm away from him and stumbled backward. “ _Cousin_?” He asked, scoffing. He looked around the room in disbelief, as if trying to find someone to give him an answer to all of his questions. “I am not your-”

 _“Mateo! Saca esta mierda de mi vista. Alguien más puede tratar con él?”_ the King yelled. He shot Lovino one last annoyed look before turning and leaving the room in a huff. Before the door shut, Lovino heard him say, “If he acts like a child one more time, I’ll personally tear him limb from limb. I do not care if he’s my cousin or not. Make sure he knows that.”

Lovino was sure that the King had meant for him to hear, and that he hadn’t really meant for _Mateo,_ whoever that was, to repeat the message at all. Lovino sat on the couch again, his heart still beating in his ears. He was on edge, in a place he was unfamiliar with, in the presence of people he’d only ever heard bad things about. They were pompous, unsympathetic people with no idea how the poor lived. If they did know, they didn’t care. They lived in their own little world. And the King? Oh, the King was the worst of them all. He did know how the poor lived, he didn’t care; even worse, he was the one that had forced them all into that situation. He built grand palaces and wore lavish clothing, surrounded himself with beautiful women, frequently lost his temper and held monumental parties and balls. He didn’t give a single shit about what anyone other than himself wanted or thought. When he wanted something, he took it. Lovino wondered if that was how he’d ended up where he was, right at that moment. 

The door opened again, this time revealing a shorter man with darker hair. Only, he didn’t enter the room and invade Lovino’s personal space like the King had. 

“Come with me,” he called. “I will take you upstairs.”

“Upstairs where?” Lovino asked, suspicious. Mateo looked to his side, quietly speaking to another person. 

“Come now,” Mateo called again. “You will come now, or be killed.”

Lovino raised his eyebrows. “Goddamn, right to the point,” he mumbled to himself before standing and walking toward the door. Mateo put a strong hand on his shoulder, giving him one look under thick eyebrows, and then pushed him along a short corridor. They came to a set of wide stone steps, and Lovino took each one with care. He and Mateo were not alone; another two guards were following them, and remained behind them until they reached a small room with a bed and a few other pieces of furniture. Lovino was shoved inside, and Mateo followed him in. 

“Your name is Lovino Romano Vargas. You are the son of Romano Vargas. You are the grandson of Romulus Vargas. Romulus Vargas was once _El Señor de Romanilla,_ the Lord of the region of Romanilla, which has now been broken up into small villages. Are you understanding?” Mateo spoke in a rough, unemotional voice. Lovino stood in the middle of the room, wrist still tied behind him. 

_My grandfather? A Lord?_

Lovino nodded, although not following in the least. 

“Your grandfather left the palace when his wife died. He no longer wanted the power he had. His land was broken up amongst other Lords. He was excommunicated from the family and went into a life of poverty, completely cut off from anyone he’d known before. His son, daughter-in-law, and their two boys were forced out with him. Not long after this event, the son and daughter-in-law died of influenza. Romulus raised the two young boys on his own, you and your brother.” 

Lovino was listening, but that didn’t mean he was believing. He was sure this was some elaborate lie, and only wanted the man to stop trying to convince him of fallacies. “This is a lie,” Lovino countered, shaking his head. “My family is from Rome. Not Spain.”

“You are correct,” Mateo agreed, nodding slowly. “They were not Spanish. They owned land in Rome, distant relatives of the royal family. Then, your great-grandmother was married to a Spanish Lord, Lord Vargas. Thus, your family lineage moved to Spain.”

Lovino turned away from the man. “Regardless of whether or not you are lying…” he started, taking a deep breath. “I still do not know why I am here.”

“Your grandfather is dead. You are the patriarch of the Vargas family. You have been called back to the palace at the request of King Antonio himself.” 

“What does he want with me?”

“I do not know. He has made it clear to myself, and to everyone else, that he is in no way inviting you back into court. I was told to bring you here, where you will reside until he comes to address you again. _Señor_ Vargas,” Mateo paused, waiting for Lovino to turn his head in answer. “If I may offer advice, I will tell you to obey the King. You may think you have a say in this or that, but you’ll find that you do not. The King does not have you here on friendly terms, as you may have already noticed.”

Lovino let the man’s words process for a moment, averting his eyes to the floor. “Will I see my brother again?”

“In time, possibly.”

 _Possibly._ “Should I fear the King?”

“Yes.”

“Do you fear the King?”

A pause. “No, but I do not care if I live or die. I have no family he can threaten. If I did, I would fear him very much.”

Lovino nodded. He took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was not as lavish as the rest of the palace, but it was nicer than he’d ever had before. He slowly went over to the small mirror that hung above a chair and side table. “Can I have my hands untied?”

Mateo cut the rope around Lovino’s wrists. Lovino immediately began rubbing and soothing the red skin around his wrists and took a seat on the bed. “I will be leaving now. The King will be up here soon. Remember my advice, _amigo_ , and learn to make the best of a very bad situation.”

Mateo left, closing and locking the door behind him. Lovino knew that guards probably remained at his door. Lovino took this moment of peace to assess his situation. He wondered whether Mateo had been lying about his family heritage, but he did not seem like the type to lie. He wondered if his brother was alright. He wondered if the King would keep him locked in this room forever. He wondered why the King brought him here, even if his family was part of the court at one point, even if he had lived here at one point. It just didn’t make any sense. 

Lovino laid back on the bed, head hitting the pillow with a thump. He was so tired, beyond tired. It had been an extremely stressful day for him. He didn’t want to deal with the King, or Mateo, or anyone else for that matter. He just wanted to sleep. Slowly, Lovino closed his eyes. Maybe he’d wake up and this had all been a dream.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t. 

When Lovino awoke, King Antonio was standing over him, displeased. “I never told you that you could sleep. Get up, now.”

Groggily, Lovino sat up. Antonio yanked him the rest of the way, still towering over him as he stood. “What do you want?” Lovino asked. He would’ve sounded far more snarky if he hadn’t still been half asleep. 

“Mateo explained some vital information to you, did he not? Stand up straight. You’re in the presence of a King.” 

“I know who you are. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m under no obligation to,” a small smirk. “I’ve only come to deliver information.”

Lovino stayed quiet. King Antonio continued. “You’ll be residing in this room until further notice. You’ll not try to leave. If you do, you will be killed on the spot. When I call for you, you’ll come. When I speak to you, you’ll answer. That is the only time you’ll speak at all. You want to know why I brought you here?"

Silence. 

"I was bored. I grew tired of beautiful young women from upper-class families.”

Lovino blinked. _What does that have to do with me?_

“You’re something I’ve never had before,” the King moved closer, tipping Lovino’s chin up slightly with his fingertips. Lovino moved to pull away, but the look in the King’s eye convinced him that it would be a bad idea. “A man, an ex-noble. A disgrace. But believe me, you are just as beautiful as those pure-bred _prostitutas._ ”

At this, Lovino moved his head quickly and smacked the man’s hand out of his face, but Antonio was quick on his feet. He grabbed both of Lovino’s wrists and shoved him back into a wall, where Lovino hit his head and winced. Antonio pressed against him, his muscular and toned body strong and hard against Lovino’s less-built frame. Lovino’s breath caught in the back of his throat, fear coursing through his veins. “Let me go,” he protested, struggling against the man. “Get off of me!”

“No,” was Antonio’s simple reply. With one hand, Antonio pinned Lovino’s wrists above his head. With the other, he lifted Lovino’s shirt and groped at his skin. “Address me correctly. I am _Majestad_ , or _My King_. Sir, God...Choose whichever you like, then address me.”

Lovino swallowed hard, his adrenaline making it hard to think. “I won’t. I won’t say it. You’re evil. I won’t call you that.”

Laughter rang out in the room. Antonio’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Lovino felt his hand traveling downward until Antonio was palming him through his trousers, entirely unashamed. Lovino gaped, squirmed and struggled, trying to kick at him and push him away. “ _El Diablo,_ then? Does that suit you better?” When Lovino only answered with frustrated grunts as he tried to escape, Antonio said, “No? Then let us try again. Address me.”

Lovino felt like he would cry soon. Not out of fear or sadness, but out of frustration. Antonio continued to palm him and Lovino knew his body would betray him soon. “Get off of me! Stop touching me, _pervertito!_ ”

Antonio leaned forward, nibbling roughly on Lovino’s earlobe. Lovino writhed and cried out. He felt himself growing hard. “How can I help myself when you play _so_ _hard to get?_ ”

Lovino felt tears prick his eyes. He had to stop Antonio soon, or else he would embarrass himself entirely. The older man was still licking at his neck and kissing his skin, but they weren’t careful, gentle kisses. They were simultaneously sloppy and prolonged, as if Antonio wanted to be careless and rough but also knew that he had all the time in the world. “Are you going to say it, _Lovinito?_ Beg me to stop.”

Lovino bit his lip and made a sound in protest. Antonio slipped his hand inside of his pants, and the skin-on-skin contact made Lovino’s breath hitch. “Get off of me…” He tried one more time, but his voice was strained. “Please. Get off of me. Leave me alone... _Majestad_.”

Antonio pulled away, letting go of Lovino. The younger man dropped to the floor, breathing heavy. He wiped at his mouth, trying to regain any control over his thoughts. Antonio merely watched him, a smug look on his egotistical face. 

“Was that so hard? Good boy. _Buen chico._ I think we’ll get along just fine,” he said, and then promptly left the room, shutting the door behind him loudly. 

Lovino crawled into bed pathetically. His mind was blank with shock. Why did his body have to react? The King was handsome, but he was vile. There was no doubt in Lovino’s mind, now. He no longer had to wonder why he had been brought to the palace; Antonio’s actions had made his intentions more than clear. 

_I can’t stay here. I will not let that man violate me and use me like a toy._ Lovino thought to himself, staring at the blank wall, shaking in his anger. Then someone’s face appeared in his mind. _Feliciano. I can’t let him down. God knows what they will do to him._ Lovino had no way of even knowing if his brother was safe, but on the off-chance that he was, Lovino wanted to keep it that way. If that meant that he had to endure… whatever this was, then dammit, he’d try.

-

Translations

  1. Stronzi **\- Assholes**
  2. Este hijo de puta habla mucho. Nobleza, mi culo. Se ve como un perro sin hogar. - **This son of a bitch talks a lot. Nobility, my ass. It looks like a homeless dog.**
  3. Ten cuidado, Su Majestad. Él podría atacarte. - **Be careful, Your Majesty. He could attack you.**
  4. Imagina eso - **Imagine that**
  5. Mateo! Saca esta mierda de mi vista. Alguien más puede tratar con él? - **Get this shit out of my sight. Can anyone else deal with it?**
  6. El Diablo - **The Devil**
  7. Buen chico - **Good boy**




	2. Lo Siento

Lovino awoke naturally the next morning, eyes opening slowly to be faced with the bright morning sun. He sat up, looked around, and felt his stomach grumble. The floors were cold, and he didn’t have any stockings. He made his way to the wooden door and tried the handle; locked, of course. He banged on the door, hoping to get the attention of a guard or passerby. 

“You are not permitted to leave, Señor Vargas,” someone said immediately. Lovino assumed it was a guard stationed outside of his room.

“Can I at least get some damn food? I’m starving in here.”

There were some murmurs. Lovino waited impatiently, arms crossed. “You know,” he started again. “I’d love to eat right now. I’m sure the King doesn’t want his captive starving to death. What fun would that be?”

“You will be served breakfast shortly,” one of the guards said. Partially satisfied, Lovino went and sat on the edge of his bed again. Whatever life was going to entail for him at the palace, he hoped it wouldn’t solely consist of the same boring room and the same boring food every day. 

When the door did open, it revealed Mateo, foodless. Lovino slumped his shoulders. “I was hoping for some piping hot porridge,” Lovino said, bitterly. Mateo raised an eyebrow at him.

“Porridge? You live in a palace now. You will not be eating porridge.”

Lovino stopped thumbing the edge of the bed’s blanket. “Live? I hardly _live_ in a palace. I’m locked in one, like a prisoner.”

“If you were a mere prisoner, _El Majestad_ would have you in a cell underground. Instead, you are here, in a fine room, about to be escorted to dine on even finer food,” Mateo disputed, going to a chest in the corner of the room. Lovino watched as he opened it to reveal an array of elegant clothing. "A prisoner, you are not."

“I’m held here against my will,” Lovino argued. “I’m not a friend, you said so yourself. Your King made that clear last night when he… well.” He stopped himself, unsure what Mateo knew. The man turned his head to look at Lovino, but did not stop sorting through clothing. 

“Do not tell me what he did. That puts me in a situation I do not desire to be in. Whatever it was, I assure you that he has done worse to someone else. Here, dress yourself,” Mateo said curtly, placing some clothing items in Lovino’s hands. “I will be outside. Join me when you are finished.”

Lovino found himself wearing the most well-made clothing he ever had, and he knew well-made clothing when he saw it. Everything fit him well, was thick and sturdy, and made of expensive fabric. The extremely large bishop-style sleeves made him feel a bit silly, and he didn’t have any shoes, but it wasn’t all bad. On the upside, he was warm. 

He left the room after giving himself a once-over in the mirror. He didn’t want to look like a drunken bum around these lavish people; that would only draw more attention to him. He met Mateo outside of his room, and together they began to descend the stone staircase that he’d been pushed up only yesterday. “So who will I be eating with?” Lovino asked once they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Mateo led him down the corridor, through a series of halls. “The King will be there. He has asked that you join him for breakfast, but I warn you that he is not in a very pleasant mood. Nobody else will be dining at that time.” 

“Great,” mumbled Lovino. “I finally get to eat, but I have to do it in the presence of that _bastardo._ ”

They came to large wooden double doors. Mateo pushed them open, revealing a room with a wall made almost entirely of windows. Large and heavy drapery hung from each. In the center of the room, there was a long table, dark wooden and elaborately carved. Already seated was the King, and he did not stand as Lovino and Mateo entered. Lovino slowly made his way to the other end of the table, sitting down in the dark chair. 

“Thank you, Mateo. You may leave,” Antonio called. Mateo made some sort of bowing gesture before exiting the room. Then, it was only Antonio and Lovino, and Antonio’s eyes fell heavily on the other. Antonio tilted his head slightly, but Lovino kept his hands in his lap, disdain on his face. “Good morning Lovino."

“Sure.”

Antonio seemed appeased and went back to being quiet. From a side door, a man in a white apron appeared. He had a chef’s hat on and a kind face. “Good morning, Your Majesty, and Your Majesty’s guest. I will now present today’s menu to you,” He bellowed, his voice deep and his accent thick. “For this morning, we will be serving you fresh _torrijas_ and fruit, bacon, sweet cornbread and tea with lemon. If this satisfies the King and his guest, we shall have you served shortly.”

The chef, whatever his name was, looked to the King for assurance. Antonio nodded dully, slouching in his chair. The chef scurried off again, and Lovino watched him go. 

“I’m not feeling well today, Lovinito. You’ll have to excuse my being...lackluster,” Antonio spoke up. He peered at Lovino with an unrelenting stare. Then again, Lovino wondered, why should he feel ashamed or look away? Sure, it wasn't polite to stare, but he was the King. He could do a lot worse than simply stare.

Lovino didn't reply. Antonio’s pet name for him, _Lovinito_ , irked him to no end. “Must you call me that?” He said after a moment of thought. 

“Call you what?”

“That. _Lovinito._ ”

“You don’t like it?”

“No.”

“Would you rather me call you _mi putana? Mi zorrita? Mujerzuela?_ No? Then you'll not complain.” 

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from lashing out. Every thought in his head at that moment would surely get him beaten. Antonio, on the other end of the table, was rubbing at his temples like an exasperated mother. Lovino had a feeling this action didn't actually have anything to do with him. 

“Why am I eating breakfast with you?” Lovino questioned after a few minutes of silence. Antonio drummed his long fingers on the table, meeting Lovino’s eyes with a gaze that bore into him. 

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Antonio countered. Lovino sneered. “If you don't want to eat with me, fine. But you won't eat at all. 

A few moments later, the side door opened against and the chef reappeared. Several men with him carried large platters of food. It was enough to feed five people back at his village, and it was all for the Antonio and Lovino. Lovino had never had this much food in his life. Plate after plate of eggs and ham and fruit and pastries were placed in front of him, and his stomach rumbled again. He picked up a fork and wasted no time eating, trying everything, filling himself to the brim with amazing food.

Neither of them attempted to make conversation while they ate. Occasionally, Lovino would glance up to find Antonio’s eyes on him, but they seemed to always be. Lovino couldn't quite place the look that the man gave him, perhaps because Lovino didn't want to look at him long enough to decipher it. Everything about the King made his blood run cold. He would be civil, and civil only, for Feliciano’s sake. 

Lovino was on his last plate and felt incredibly stuffed. He began to feel sick even smelling the bacon or eggs. He took a final drink of his tea and then pushed his chair away from the table. Antonio looked up at him, taking another bite. 

Lovino stood, brushed his lap off, and turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” The stern voice behind him asked. 

“...Back to my room?,” Lovino replied, coming to a stop. “Or is that not allowed now?”

Antonio stood from his chair, walking over to Lovino slowly. His head was tilted, his eyes squinted, as if trying to understand him. “Your attitude and manners are incredibly poor. You will sit at that table until I dismiss you. I make the rules here, _Lovinito._ Not you. You do not do anything without my permission anymore.”

“You-”

“You do not even _breathe_ , without my permission,” Antonio had one hand on the back of the chair, the other on Lovino's arm. Lovino tried to step away, but Antonio kept his hold. "Hear me?”

“If it is sex you want, why don't you get it from the hundreds of women that, I'm sure, fall at your feet?” Lovino asked, hand coming up to try to pry at Antonio’s. Antonio released his arm, but did not step away. As he looked at Lovino, it was like he wasn't hearing him at all, just becoming more and more fascinated with the other’s existence.

“Who says I want sex?” The King asked, grinning. “Don't project your fantasies onto me.”

“It's not my fantasy!” Lovino barked, feeling his blood boil. “Being held against a wall and groped is not my fantasy at all!”

“Then why did you get so turned on, _mi ramera?”_ Antonio’s grin turned to a smirk, and his eyes once again showed the mischievous spark that they had shown yesterday. Lovino slowly backed up, but Antonio only stepped forward. “Your body responds. If you despise me so much, why does your body continue to respond?”

“I can't help th-”

“Yes, you can. You're only lying to yourself, _Lovinito_ . You know the truth,” Antonio’s voice was at a raspy whisper now, fingertips coming to ghost upon Lovino’s waist. Lovino stayed still, not wanting to be up against any more walls. Antonio’s free hand came up to gently run down Lovino’s cheek. “You find me attractive, admit it! I can. I find you extremely, _irresistibly_ attractive.”

Lovino shivered. “What, do you get off on forcing people to say things you want by assaulting them, _bastardo_? You realize that forcing someone to say something means that it probably isn't sincere?”

“So what? Nothing is sincere in this fucking palace,” Antonio bit back, arm circling Lovino’s lower back. The shorter man was pulled flush against Antonio’s body. “I can live a lie. I've done it all my life.”

Lovino had no idea what Antonio was rambling on about, and didn't care to find out. He pushed against Antonio’s chest and wiggled out of his grip. “Let me go back to my room. I want to write to my brother. I need proof that he is unharmed.”

Antonio’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. He became more steady, less intent on feeling up Lovino. “Your brother. You love him very much, don't you? Sure, write to him. Be sure to include the time when I almost made you cum in your trousers. That's my favorite part.” 

Lovino looked at him in pure disgust. _What a truly horrid human being_. Without another word, Lovino rushed to exit the dining room and navigate his way back upstairs. Antonio did not call or chase after him, just let him go. Lovino shut his bedroom door behind him with a slam, like a pissed-off teenager. Pacing his room, Lovino tried to maintain his anger. He controlled his breathing, went over to the desk that sat in front of the window, and slammed his hands down. He pulled open drawers until he found parchment and a fountain pen. He began scribbling out a letter, explaining everything to his brother, trying to make sense of the whole ordeal for himself as he wrote. 

_Dearest Feliciano,_

_Everything is okay. I'll start this by saying that. I am in the palace with the King, and he has yet to reveal what true business he has with me. As far as I can guess, our family had some unfinished business with King Antonio, and now I must answer for it._

_The past day has been confusing, and the King enigma that I am still attempting to comprehend. This situation is a tough one. I hope you are well, and I also hope that you will stay with the Beilschmidts for the time being. Don't worry about me, just write me back quickly and I’ll inform you of anything I learn._

_Your Brother,_

_Lovino_

It was short, and Feliciano would probably be upset with him for not going into detail. There was no point in upsetting him, Lovino figured, so he had refrained from doing so. He folded the letter and secured it inside of an envelope, wondering how he’d get it to his brother now. 

He didn't want to ask for help from Antonio, so the next best option was Mateo. Peeking outside of his room, he saw only a guard beside his door. He figured he wasn't allowed to leave, and that if he tried, he'd be stopped. He kept his eyes on the guard and took one experimental step outside. The man didn't move, only stared straight ahead. Lovino took another. No response, so Lovino walked downstairs. He wandered around, glancing in open doors and attempting to avoid people as much as possible. He got the occasional questioning glance or confused look from passersby, mostly women with large hair and pale skin, but he remained mostly ignored. His socked feet made little sound as he padded through the corridors. Finally, Lovino came to the end of a dark hall. A large painting of a woman in red hung opposite of a wooden door. Lovino stared at it for a moment, wondering who she was. Then, he opened the door slowly, looking inside. 

Luckily, Mateo sat at a dark desk, sorting through some parchment. Lovino breathed a sigh of relief. “Mateo,” he began, getting the man’s attention. Mateo looked up at him, a little startled, and set down his papers. “I need your help.”

“How did you find this room?” Mateo asked firstly, standing. He didn't seem upset, only a little surprised. “This is my office. Come in.”

Lovino entered, closing the door softly behind him. “I checked all of the rooms. You need to find some better guards, the man outside my room just let me walk right out.”

“I told you, you are not a prisoner here, so long as you do not leave the palace grounds.” 

Lovino scoffed. “Why’s there a guard at my door in the first place, then?”

Mateo pushed his chair in. “Have you considered that he may be there to keep others _out_ , rather than to keep you _in?”_

Lovino considered this. _Well, he doesn't do a very good job. You and Antonio walk in whenever you please,_ he thought, but decided against saying. 

Instead, Lovino changed the subject. Holding up a letter, he said, “I need you to mail this letter to my brother. I need him to know that I’m okay.” 

Mateo quirked an eyebrow, something he did often. “Your… brother. The one you lived with before, yes?” 

“Yes, Feliciano Vargas.”

“ _Lo siento_. I cannot help you, I am afraid. You must have the King stamp your letter with the royal seal in order for it to go out with the mail carriage,” Mateo explained, holding up

another piece of mail. “The King stamps every piece of mail that is sent out. If it is not stamped, it will be discarded.”

Lovino’s hand, holding the letter, fell to his side in defeat. “I don't want to speak to him,” he explained, crossing his arms stubbornly. Every encounter he had with the King involved humiliating and degrading comments, accompanied by unwelcome touching and gestures. Lovino wanted to avoid him as much as possible. “Antonio won't do me this favor without me returning it somehow, or him taking payment through harassing me.”

Mateo, for once, chuckled. His mustached mouth turned upward slightly as he moved to the door. Opening it for Lovino, he said, “ _Antonio_ , huh? Well, whatever you do, make sure not to call him _Antonio_ to his face. I imagine he will not do _any_ favor for you, after that. _Buena suerte.”_

Lovino sighed. Mateo was an alright man, but he wasn't apparently the kind to be overly helpful or kind. Thus, Lovino found himself shut out of Mateo’s office and lost in the palace again. He had no idea where the King was, or even where he _might_ be. Quietly, Lovino moved through the halls, growing afraid that he might not be able to find his way back to his room when needed. He supposed that he could ask someone for some directions, but he didn’t know where he stood amongst the people of the palace. Did they know who he was? He didn’t know who they were, so why would they? They probably assumed he was some visiting noble who happened to be confused (and probably a little stupid). 

As he walked, Lovino took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the palace. Sure, it was over the top, and the money could have gone to far better use, but that didn’t mean that the architecture and detail couldn’t be appreciated. Lovino ran his fingertips along the wall as he walked, feeling the smooth red wallpaper. Red seemed to be Antonio’s favorite color, as it was everywhere and a part of everything. Most of what Lovino had seen the man wear had been red, as well. Lovino decided that the color fit him well; red was the color of anger and passion, two things that Antonio did not lack in the slightest. 

After a few more minutes and a few more empty rooms, Lovino stopped a young boy carrying towels. He was dressed in what seemed to be the maid or cleaning uniform; a white buttoned shirt with black pants and polished black shoes. Atop his head sat a red ascot cap. The boy was probably about fifteen, Lovino guessed, and had tan skin and eyes that stayed glued to the floor as he walked. Lovino stopped in his path and said, “Excuse me, do you know where the King is?”

The young boy halted, looking up at him. He held the towels close to his chest. “ _¿Qué?”_ Then, the boy’s face flushed, and he said, _“Lo siento señor. No hablo ingles!”_

 _Great._ Lovino thought. _Time to butcher some Spanish._

Wincing, he tried to piece together a sentence. “... _Tú sai,_ ah, _sabes… el rey? Dónde?”_

The young boy’s face showed confusion and then understanding. He gave a small smile to Lovino, and nodded. “ _Si. Sígueme.”_ Then, he turned around and began to go back the way he came. Lovino silently thanked God that the boy at least seemed to understand him. 

The boy led Lovino down one long corridor that had cream-colored walls instead of red. There was a light brown chair railing along the middle of the wall that separated the top and bottom halves, and the bottom half was a darker shade of blue. Lovino wondered why this corridor looked so different from the rest, but if he was going to meet the King, that probably had something to do with it. Lovino wondered how many rooms were in the palace altogether. Each corridor and hall appeared to have around five, and so far, he’d seen six halls. But that was only this one level, and there were many sets of stairs that he hadn’t explored. This floor seemed to be mostly bedrooms, offices, and restrooms, with a dining room at one end and a large sitting room at the other.

They came to a door and the young boy stopped. “ _Él está aquí,”_ he said, knocking on the door three times. Then, he tipped his hat and began to walk away. Lovino watched him go, wishing he would’ve stayed so that Lovino wouldn’t have had to be alone with the King. 

“Come in,” he heard Antonio call from the other side of the door. Slowly, Lovino pushed the door open and entered the room. He’d been expecting an office of some sort, but it wasn’t an office at all. There were three large casement windows opposite from him, and sunlight beamed through relentlessly. The room was painted that same dark blue color as the walls had been in the hall. Bookshelves lined the two side walls and in the middle of the room sat a grand piano. Antonio was holding a book and stood next to a bookcase on Lovino’s right, and looked up to see who’d interrupted him. “Are you just wandering around?”

“No,” Lovino answered, letting the door close behind him. He stayed standing where he was. “I asked Mateo to mail this letter for me, but he said that I need your… seal, or whatever.”

“You’re asking me for a favor? After you’ve been so terribly rude?” Antonio quizzed, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. “I believe you owe me an apology.”

Lovino’s face twisted in disdain. “I don’t owe you shit.”

“Oh?” Antonio raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Is that right? Then, I suggest you forget about the letter. Your brother will never read it.”

“But he needs to! He probably thinks I’m dead!” 

“What difference does it make? It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, regardless.”

Lovino clenched his fists. The sun continued to pour into the room, giving the entire space a cheerful gleam, but nothing was cheerful about the situation. Lovino wanted to make Antonio suffer for his selfish ways, for stealing him away from his home and for acting like a self-righteous prick. Just looking at the man managed to aggravate him. How could one person be so disgusting?

“You can’t keep me from my brother forever. I’m all he has, don’t you understand? I’ve done nothing to you! I am being held here against my will and I can’t even send a letter?” Lovino demanded, thrusting the letter out to the man. “Whatever business you had with my grandfather died along with him. Stop taking it out on me!”

Antonio pondered this for a second. Then, he said, “No.”

That one little word managed to drive Lovino mad every time it came out of Antonio’s mouth. Antonio would simply ignore logic, ignore reason, ignore everything Lovino said just because he could. Lovino just stared at him, fuming, unable to comprehend. He’d never dealt with anyone in such a position of power before. Antonio was second to no one, nobody told him what to do, no laws applied to him, no moral code of conduct could tell him how to behave. He could kill Lovino right there and nobody would punish him. He could do whatever he wanted. Lovino was entirely at his mercy. 

“I no longer have business with your grandfather,” Antonio said slowly, hand resting on the bookshelf. He stepped away from it, and Lovino thought he was going to approach him, but instead, Antonio sat on a stood near the piano. “I have business with you now. Your grandfather owed a lot of people a lot of money. When he left the court, I absorbed all of these debts and paid them off. Do you know how much money it was, Lovino?”

Lovino didn’t answer. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. All he could think about was his brother. 

“Forty-two hundred _reals_ . That is a lot, isn’t it, _Lovinito?_ Clearly, you do not have the money to pay me back for this debt. That is why you stay here, with me, and that is why you’ll learn to respect me-- or I’ll have your brother killed.”

Lovino only stared at him. Tears of frustration were threatening to spill. How could this man so calmly threaten the death of his brother? How could he feel no remorse? Lovino understood that debt must be paid, but he was sure that 4,200 _reals_ were not any detrimental loss to the King. The piano that Antonio sat near probably cost more than that alone. 

"I hate you."

Antonio tilted his head, then shifted to face the piano. “Come sit with me _._ ”

Lovino only wanted to leave. He felt like he was being scolded like a child. He stayed where he was, tears brimming his eyes. One dropped down his cheek and he hoped Antonio was too far to see it. Stubbornly, he turned away, feeling his lip quiver. He didn’t want to let that bastard see him cry. What else could he do? He couldn’t scream or attack Antonio, or he would be thrown in some dark cellar. He couldn’t just walk out, or he would probably be beaten for his insolence. He couldn’t even get this stupid letter stamped. He was helpless.

 _“Chiquito._ Come, now.” 

Lovino had a lump in his throat. He knew that if he dared to speak, his voice would crack and the waterfalls waiting behind his eyes would spill. He took a deep breath, and quietly said, “I want to go home.”

“Lovino.”

 _“Please,_ let me go home!”

“It’s sweet of you to beg,” Antonio quipped. “But it won’t get you anywhere. At least not in this atmosphere. Come. Sit.”

Lovino rubbed at his eyes pathetically, then walked over to the King with a temper in his step. He knew he was acting like a child throwing a tantrum. He knew he was probably only playing into Antonio’s little game and giving him the reaction he wanted. Lovino didn’t care at that point. He clutched the letter in his hand, which now had a few damp drops on the envelope. Maybe if he did what Antonio asked of him, his letter would be sent. And then he could stop the obedient act immediately. 

  
“Good. _Bueno,_ ” Antonio praised, reaching out to touch Lovino’s arm. When Lovino stopped walking, Antonio grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to sit. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you never listen. Why don’t you do what I ask, Lovino?”

_Because you’re terrible. Everything you ask of me is horrible. You’re an awful man and you make me sick._

“I don’t know.”

“You’ll make me hurt you? Don’t force me to do that, _Lovinito_. Though, you do look pretty when you cry.”

 _You’d know a lot about force. How many people have you forced, Antonio? How long until you force_ me?

Lovino mumbled, “I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“Oh, if only you knew. Anything I do, you force me to do. If you weren't so beautiful, I would be able to keep my hands off of you,” Antonio emphasized this statement by snaking an arm around Lovino’s waist. Lovino moved to push him away but stopped himself. He had to think of his brother. “I want to explore you.”

Lovino shivered, turning his face away. Antonio simultaneously smelled like cherries and gunpowder. His hands were smooth and soft; it was obvious he’d never worked a day in his life. His skin was even and free of imperfections, his body strong and healthy. He clearly ate well and remained active. Lovino watched Antonio’s long, dark eyelashes as he closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss Lovino’s neck. Lovino wanted to shove him back, to scream, to scrub his body clean. He held his shaking hands together in his lap, feelings Antonio’s body heat radiate onto him.

“You don't have to act so disgusted, Lovino. It's alright to give in,” Antonio whispered against Lovino’s skin. His hand was under Lovino’s shirt once again, the other on his thigh. “Nobody's here. Nobody will see you.”

“I don't want to,” Lovino protested. "I don't want this."

“Yes, you do. Admit it. What are you afraid of?” Antonio pressed, his mischievous emerald eyes boring into Lovino’s own. 

Lovino pressed against Antonio’s chest, pushing him away slightly. “Stop this,” he said, his head spinning. “I don’t want to have sex with you.” 

Antonio leaned back, finally taking his hands off of Lovino. He took one blank look at the younger man before snatching the letter off of the top of the piano and promptly tearing it in half. Lovino could only watch with wide eyes.

“Welcome to the real world, Lovino. Or, at least, welcome to _my_ world. You’ll come to see that everything around here revolves around me,” Antonio’s mood had changed in a flash. His voice was low, loud, and serious now as he tore the letter up. “Either you get with the program or fall out of orbit. If you want something from someone, you’d better be prepared to pay for it. I don’t give charity.”

Lovino scrambled to collect the pieces of parchment as they fell to the floor. He fell to his knees and began to scoop them up into his hands. Antonio stood, looking down at Lovino over his nose. When Lovino had everything picked up off the floor, he met Antonio’s gaze, bitterness in his eyes. Antonio chuckled, squatting down to look Lovino at eye-level. 

“Nothing in life is free, and you, _cariño_ , are broke. All you have to offer is that body of yours. I suggest you rewrite that letter and find me when you’re ready to pay the price of a favor. You’re attractive, _querido_ ,” Antonio tilted Lovino’s chin up again, tilting the younger man’s head to each side and inspecting his face. “But you’re not _that_ attractive.”

Antonio stood and went to leave, but Lovino remained on his knees. He was breathing hard, simultaneously mildly flustered and on the verge of tears. “Do I have to have sex with you just for you to send this letter?” Lovino called after him. Antonio paused, turning to look at him again. 

“No. But I’ll have sex with you if I want to have sex with you, regardless of what you want,” he explained. Then, he sighed in annoyance. “You still don’t get it, do you? I’ll do whatever I want with you, Lovino. I’ll fuck you sideways, backward, upside down, I don’t care. You can cry all you want, but it is up to me. I’m simply saying that when _you_ are asking for a favor from _someone else,_ you’re not exactly in a position to be picky and unwilling. How badly do you want that letter to be sent?”

Lovino looked down at his hands, which help the torn-up letter. Antonio’s words had hit him hard. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if-- _when--_ Antonio would force him to do things Lovino had never prepared to do. There wasn’t much he could do to stop it at all; even telling someone would prove pointless. As Antonio said, everyone bowed to him, including Mateo and anyone else Lovino would try to confide in.

“Badly, which I think is obvious,” he murmured. 

“Badly enough to beg me on your hands and knees? Badly enough to kiss my shoes and call me God? Badly enough to wrap those _angelito_ lips around my cock and suck me off? How badly, Lovino?” 

Lovino gulped. How to answer? He wasn’t sure. He just needed his brother to know he was alright, that was all. And this was an overwhelming situation to be in, being left with an ultimatum unlike any he'd been posed with before. Neither option was a good option, but his love for his brother exceeded all of his own fears. This truth did not make the situation easier. Without realizing it, Lovino was slowly rocking back and forth, anxiety welling up in his body and daring to spill over into a panic attack. His head was pounding, his hands were shaking, his lip was quivering and his thoughts were blank.

“Oh, _Dios._ Don’t start crying again,” Antonio rolled his eyes, turning back to the door and opening it. He held it open for a second, glancing back at Lovino. “Get off the floor, _cabrón._ You look pathetic.”

The door shut and Lovino let out a sob he’d been holding in. Alone in the piano room, he let his tears fall, but tried to be as quiet as possible in order to avoid unwanted attention. He stayed there on the floor until the tears on his cheeks dried and he’d resorted to a sniveling mess. The King was right; he looked pathetic. But Lovino didn’t care. The King was even more pathetic, even in his dignified stance. Only a miserable, pathetic person could threaten to rape another.

Lovino dragged himself off of the floor, using the piano for balance. He put his hands on his face and then let them fall, trying to get his jumbled mind to clear. He began to pace the room, trying to devise a plan. How far was he willing to go in order to get this letter sent? If he could find Antonio’s office, he could just stamp it himself, couldn’t he? Then he’d drop it in the mail shoot and everything would be fine. Antonio would never know. But what if he found out somehow? What if he had people spying on Lovino? _What kind of punishment would Antonio dish out for something like that, a beating and some groping? Who knows._

Lovino paused, pursed his lips, and crossed his arms. Looking around the room for an idea, a piece of parchment on the piano caught his eye. It was sheet music, sitting there inconspicuously. _Had Antonio been playing this?_ Lovino wondered, picking it up. It was a piece called “La Obertura del Corazón” and seemed incredibly fast and lively. Lovino wanted very badly to hear it, for some reason, perhaps to take his mind off of his situation; but he had no piano training and therefore could not play it himself. He set the music back down in its place, looked at it for a moment more, and then left the room. 

Lovino found his way back to the staircase that led to his room and took his time climbing it. He found himself growing both hungry and tired. He wondered if he could sleep, or if he’d get yelled at for that, too. Feeling empty, Lovino sat down and rewrote his letter to Feliciano. After sealing it inside another envelope, he moved to his bed and laid down. He could hear people in the courtyard outside, and almost got up to look out the window to see what was going on, but decided against it. He felt like a _principessa_ locked away in a Spanish tower, dreaming of being rescued. 

Lovino dozed off to the light sound of Spanish chatter and slept for a very long time. It was dark outside when he awoke again, and he found himself in a confused daze. Nobody had come to wake him? Had he missed dinner? He hoped not. 

Standing, Lovino stretched out and yawned. He also really wanted to clean his teeth and take a bath, but the restrooms he’d seen did not have baths. He’d have to ask Mateo about it. Lovino smoothed his hair down and went to leave, but when he attempted to turn the door handle, it refused. Puzzled, Lovino jiggled it and pulled on the door. 

“Hello?” He called, hoping there would be a guard. Nobody answered him. Lovino clenched his teeth and kicked the door in frustration, anger rising to the hilt. “Fuck you, _El Majestad!_ ”

-

Translations (rough)

 _torrijas -_ Spanish version of French toast  
 _mi putana? Mi zorrita? Mujerzuela? -_ my bitch? My little fox? Slut?Ramera  
 _Lo siento -_ I'm sorry  
 _Buena suerte -_ Good luck  
 _Tú sabes… el rey? Dónde? -_ Do you know... the King? Where?  
 _Sígueme -_ Follow me  
 _Él está aquí_ \- He is here  
 _Chiquito -_ tiny, small  
 _Cariño -_ Sweetheart  
 _Querido -_ Dear  
 _Cabrón -_ Dumbass


	3. Lo Que Sea

Lovino went to the window and looked down, but nobody was outside besides guards and a few soldiers chatting.  _ How late is it? _ Lovino questioned, looking around his room for a clock. He pulled open the chest, moving clothing around until he came upon a small silver pocket-watch.  _ Four in the morning? I really slept that long? _

Well, this was great. Lovino shut the chest and settled for sitting at the desk with a ‘humph’. He laid his head on the cold wood, feeling the hunger churn in his stomach, wondering why nobody had disrupted his sleep. He also wondered why the door was locked, but he had an idea that Antonio’s childish attitude probably had something to do with that. Lovino traced shapes on the desk with his finger, losing his thoughts to daydreams and memories of his home and his family. He missed his brother. He missed that German bastard Ludwig. He missed his  _ Nonno _ . He missed the tailor shop and the corny jokes Feliciano would tell whenever things got too quiet. He missed the food they ate, the songs they would sing together, and dancing with the people of his village. The lavish clothing, fine dining, and expensive bedroom furnishings could not even begin to compare to home. 

A knock came at Lovino’s door around five in the morning. Bolting up from his spot on the bed, Lovino ran to the door. “Hello?” He asked, then, “The door is locked. I can’t open it!”

He heard some fumbling, then a key entering the lock, then the locked turning. Lovino eagerly opened the door, expecting Mateo or Antonio, but it was neither of him. Instead, he was faced with a woman. She had very light-colored short hair, green eyes, and wore a decorative green headband in her hair. She donned a red dress and a white apron, but most importantly, she carried a tray of food. 

“Good morning,  _ Señor-- _ ” The woman began to speak, but Lovino snatched the tray out of her hands. She blinked, surprised at the eager display. “You are hungry?”

“Incredibly,” he answered her, setting the tray down on the desk. Then, he remembered himself, and blushed slightly out of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to grab, I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” she said, smiling and dismissing his statement with a wave of her hand. She had very round cheeks and a sweet face. Lovino began to eat his food, which was considerably less fancy than what he’d been served yesterday. “I am also supposed to deliver a message to you, if you’d like to hear it.”

“I’m not sure I do, but I have no choice,” Lovino grumbled, his mouth full of bread. “Does it involve a threat to my life or anything of that sort?” 

The woman raised her eyebrows in shock, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh, you’re joking! Of course not, nothing like that.  _ El Rey _ has asked that I inform you that there will be a grand ball tonight, and he requests your presence in the East Wing sitting room when you’ve finished eating breakfast. Perhaps you’ll be invited to attend tonight! How exciting!”

Lovino continued chewing, only staring at the woman as she spoke. “...Right,” He said. It was clear that this woman had no idea of his situation. He wondered what Antonio had told her and anyone else that knew of his presence. “Thank you for the food.”

The woman smiled once more and have a small bow accompanied by a knee bend. It was strange. After she’d bobbed up and down, she left, leaving the door open thankfully. 

Lovino practically inhaled the rest of his food. He drank the glass of milk in one go, set the glass down, and leaned back in his chair. He was curious as to why he’d been uninvited to breakfast with the King, and why his breakfast had been drastically downsized to some bread, eggs, and a small piece of fish. Either way, Lovino was grateful to have been given something to eat, and was in better spirits despite his bitterness over being locked in his room all night. 

Lovino left his room after dressing himself in something new from the chest. He wasn’t entirely sure if the outfit made any sense. Nobles, apparently, dressed in about three more layers than the rest of the population. Antonio would be waiting for him, but Lovino wanted to keep him waiting. He deserved it.

Figuring that the side of the palace where his room was situated was the “East Wing”, Lovino went down to the sitting room that he’d seen on his adventure the day before. A large arch separated the hall and the carpeted room. Lovino saw Antonio standing by a window, arms crossed, watching something in the distance intensely. 

“Ahem,” Lovino coughed, a bit annoyed that Antonio was completely zoned out. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Antonio jolted slightly but turned to him with the same playful expression that seemed to be his default. “Did you rewrite that letter for me,  _ Romanito _ ?”

Lovino noticed the new nickname but ignored it. He stepped forward to hand the King his envelope. “What favor… do I owe you?”

Antonio took the letter, taking a moment to read over the information that Lovino had written on the envelope. “You’re prepared to do favors now? I’m glad I could persuade you.”

“By locking me in my room like a child and denying me food?”

“Precisely.”

Lovino shifted his weight, wanting very badly to smart off, but he knew better. He would already have to do something he did not want to do, just to send his brother a letter. He prayed Antonio would not request that Lovino have sex with him. He had a good feeling that Antonio wouldn’t, since he’d made it clear that he could simply take Lovino anytime he wanted. Lovino wondered why Antonio was holding out, then. Whatever the reason, he hoped it continued. 

“There will be a ball tomorrow, held in the West Wing Ballroom. You’re welcome to come, as a guest, and as my cousin. If you do not want to, _lo que sea,_ I do not really care. If you come, you will be dancing with beautiful women, so I suggest you brush up on your waltzing skills. At the end of the night, though, I will be very tired, and you’ll accompany me to bed, regardless of whether or not you attend the party. Understood?” Antonio explained, as if it were a chore list. Lovino listened, on edge, expecting the worst.

“By accompany you to bed, you mean…”

“Whatever I want. I’ll probably not have the energy to fuck you. I wouldn’t dwell on it too much. Now, I’ll be taking this letter to have it mailed. Please, if you do not know how to dance, find Mateo and ask him for help. I’ll not be embarrassed by my own family member,” Antonio waved him off, dismissing him. Lovino turned to leave, but Antonio grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Oh, one more thing. If you talk poorly about me or any part of your stay here to anyone, I’ll have you locked in a cell for a week without food. _Ahora_ , _bésame_ .”

“What?” Lovino questioned the demand, but Antonio did not wait for him to understand. He pressed his lips to Lovino’s roughly, hand still gripping his arm. Lovino’s eyes went wide and he refrained from kissing back, mostly from shock but also from repulsion. 

Antonio pulled back after a moment, ruffled Lovino’s hair, and said, “Go on. Leave.”

Lovino, dazed and confused, left the room to find Mateo. He headed toward the office he’d found the day before, a million questions on his mind.  _ Why did he do that? Why was it so simple? There were no touches, no squeezes or pinches, just a kiss. How odd. _

Inside, Lovino was secretly rejoicing, but not about the kiss. Instead, he was thinking of all the people that would be at that party. All of the people who knew their way around the palace, knew the ins and outs, and possibly knew of a way for Lovino to escape. He was almost giddy just thinking about it.  _ All I need to do is make friends with one willing person... _

Lovino knocked on the door, waiting for Mateo to invite him inside. When he did, Lovino entered and stood in front of the man’s desk.

“Yes,  _ Señor?”  _ asked Mateo, without looking up from his work. Lovino wasn’t quite sure how to address what he needed to.

“I need you to teach me to dance,” he said abruptly. “The King has asked that I not… embarrass him tonight, and that I ask you for assistance.”

Mateo looked up at him, pausing in his writing. “I cannot teach you to dance, I do not know how. He wants me to set you up with an instructor. I will do as he wishes, but it will have to be immediate. You have very little time to learn very complicated dances.”

Lovino was whisked away into an empty ballroom within the hour, a man by the name of Francis accompanying him. Francis had shoulder-length blonde waves for hair that he didn't keep tied back, a thick French accent, and beautiful clothing. Francis would apparently be teaching Lovino the dances he needed to know, all while acting flustered over the time restraints.

“Alright,  _ mon ami. _ The most important dances tonight will be the passacaglia, the  _ tambourin _ , and the allemande. Have you ever danced these before?” Francis asked him, parading around the empty ballroom and looking at Lovino with suspicion.

“Uh, no, I have not.”

“And you claim to be a noble? _Tsk_. Very well. We shall start with the basics. Come take my arm,” Francis ordered. Lovino cautiously approached, resting his hand on the man’s arm. “For the allemande, you and your partner will connect arms and turn around one another. Can you manage that,  _ Monsieur Vargas? _ ” 

Lovino did as he was instructed, following the steps that Francis showed him. There was a scrawny young man in the corner of the room playing lively music on a violin that Lovino tried to move along with. When the Frenchman was pleased, they moved onto the next dance. Lovino found it hard to not trip over himself, especially during the tambourin, and the man teaching him had very little patience. The dance that Lovino liked best was the passacaglia, which he had actually seen before. It was complicated but beautiful, and he was getting the hang of it. It was mostly footwork, and when done with a partner, it was still majorly an individual dance.

“ _ Non,  _ start again. You forgot the second beat,” Francis stopped him, shaking his head in disapproval. Lovino huffed, taking position for the allemande once again. Francis was watching him, therefore Lovino had to dance alone, and found himself forgetting steps without Francis there. “You know the dance! Do not forget this time.”

Lovino listened to Francis’s counts and stepped in a circular motion, imagining he was moving with a young lady, then turning and moving along the other way. He took a step back, twirled around, and kept his up as if someone were linked with him. 

“One two three four, one two three four, turn, _bien_ _!”  _ Francis praised, clapping along to the beat. Lovino turned once more, proud that he had not yet tripped over himself, when he suddenly was met with a broad chest and a raised arm. 

“I see Francis had taught you well,” Antonio commented, having appeared out of nowhere and wrapping Lovino’s arm around his own. Lovino faltered, ready to stop, but Antonio pushed him on. Together, they danced in the empty ballroom to the music that the young musician in the corner played. 

“I keep forgetting,” Lovino replied, sidestepping and accidentally stepping on top of Antonio’s toes. The taller man didn't react, only spun Lovino around. “But I think I'm doing alright for having just learned.”

Antonio did not say anything back to this. He seemed to be very focused on the dance, his touches gentle as they met Lovino’s skin. After a few minutes, Lovino felt Antonio lightly holding onto his waist, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a part of the dance. 

“I sent your letter off. Stand on your toes more,  _ chiquito _ ,” Antonio corrected him, pulling Lovino up so that he stood straighter. Lovino looked over to Francis, who had stopped his counting, only to find that the blonde man was gone from the room. “Will you say thank you?” 

“Yes,” Lovino answered curtly, a small frown on his face. fingertips meeting Antonio’s in a light hold. “Tonight, remember?”

Antonio smiled, a chuckle holding itself back. “Of course, how could I forget? To have you in my bed shall be a dream, _ angelito.”  _

Lovino frowned. They moved around the room quickly, stepping together in a rhythm that Lovino impressed himself with. “I don’t understand you. You call me these names, you touch me gently, you dance with me and dine with me and want me to accompany you to your bed tonight. Then you turn around and threaten my, or my brother’s, life,” he said, momentarily stationed close to Antonio’s chest. Antonio twirled him outward, and they stepped again to the left. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.” 

“You are beautiful. I've told you this,” Antonio replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and that he shouldn't have to explain it. His hold on Lovino’s waist gave a squeeze. “Everything you do turns me on. When you yell, or scream, or cry, when you smile, or get frustrated, or dance. All of it.” 

Lovino resisted the urge to look down and inspect Antonio’s truth. Antonio must have picked up on this because he gave a proud smirk and pulled Lovino close. Lovino could _feel_ Antonio’s truth against his leg no problem. “So why do you threaten to kill me?”

“Oh, Lovino. You could not understand. You disobey, you disrespect, and you disregard my authority. I cannot have that. I think you are beautiful, but I want to break you apart. I want to make you cry and beg for mercy,” Antonio said confidently, moving to turn opposite of Lovino. Lovino turned as well, walking the other way, drinking in every word Antonio said for whatever it was worth. “I am a dominant man. The more you play hard-to-get, the more I want to have you. But do not think that I will hesitate to punish you.” 

Lovino did not know how to react when Antonio’s words sent shivers down his spine. Antonio was looking at him with such intensity and desire, the Italian could not help but go red in the face. The Spaniard was not holding back at all; something that appeared to be characteristic of the man. Everything he felt, every lustful thought in his mind, showed clearly through his emerald eyes. 

“Why haven't you just forced me already?” Lovino asked, joining hands with him again. This dance would be over soon, and Antonio would probably become distracted and unwilling to talk. Lovino wanted to milk this opportunity. He needed information. 

“I ask myself that every time I see you, especially now as I watch your body,” Antonio murmured, pulling Lovino flush against his own. Lovino attempted to keep the dance going, but Antonio would not let him move. “Are you requesting that I do,  _ Lovinito _ ? I can, right here, right now.” 

“No, no,” Lovino stopped him, hands firm on his chest. Putting them anywhere else would feel suggestive. “I only wanted to know why you haven't.” 

“I'm letting it build up. This way, when I do take you, it will be with enough force and lust that your legs will shake and your vision will go black. Does that sound good to you?”

Lovino felt Antonio toying with the hem to his shirt, but not go under it. The shorter man attempted to keep his composure, knowing that Antonio was trying desperately to fluster him and knock him off his guard. “I've already told you how I feel.” 

“Oh yes. You don't want to have sex with me, _supposedly_. Despite your currently hard cock, flushed cheeks, and dilated pupils, you do _not_ want to have sex with me.” 

Lovino sneered, shoving at his chest now. “The human body reacts to touch. I can't turn that thing on and off, bastard. Let me go.” 

“Now, now, we are having a nice discussion. Don't become hostile,” Antonio scolded, releasing Lovino but taking his hand. “We can kiss and make up, can't we,  _ querido?”  _

Lovino moved, taking his hand back, putting it on his hip. They resumed the dance, stepping at perfect length from each other, Antonio grabbing at him and Lovino dodging it every time. 

This became a game for Antonio as they moved swiftly around the room. He'd reach out, grab at Lovino’s waist, try to kiss him, or wrangle him closer. Lovino would move away, turning out of reach. Antonio would laugh and laugh, deep chuckles erupting from his chest and spilling out of his mouth. A giant smile plastered his face, but it wasn't one of kindness, it was that same mischievous and sneaky smile that Lovino knew could be deadly. 

“Come here,  _ mi corazón,”  _ Antonio called in a sing-song voice. Lovino shook his head, moving past him, pushing his hands away as Antonio snatched at his shirt. “You can run from me, but you can't hide.”

Antonio broke out of the dance, stepping toward Lovino. The music continued. Lovino moved backward, also abandoning the dance and tempo. Antonio kept getting closer, the playful look in his eyes, obviously amused. He tried to trap Lovino in the corner of the room but Lovino escaped narrowly. “Stop chasing me!” Lovino quipped, out of breath. Antonio was laughing and doubled over, hands on his knees. 

Antonio didn't intend to stop. He was having too much fun. He regained his energy, Lovino now on the other side of the room breathing heavily, watching Antonio carefully. Antonio stood straight again, taking a big step forward. Lovino responded by taking an even bigger step back. From the corner of his eye, he saw Francis reenter the room and approach the young man that had been tirelessly playing the violin. The music stopped as the man listened to Francis, but Antonio didn’t seem to notice. He chased Lovino around in taunting steps, Lovino growing more and more anxious the closer Antonio got. He managed to dodge Antonio for a few minutes until Antonio appeared to be over the amusement and swooped in, hooking an arm around Lovino’s waist and snatching him up. 

Lovino shouted, kicked, and tried to force Antonio off. “Calm down. I’m not going to bite,” Antonio demanded, moving to toss Lovino over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Lovino struggled and wiggled around, feeling his face get hot as his heart rate began to slow back down after running around the ballroom. “You’ve got too much energy. I can think of several activities that would put it to better use.”

“Put me down,  _ bastardo! _ I’m not a ragdoll!” 

Antonio kept Lovino mounted over his shoulder as he began to walk toward the exit. “Watch your mouth,  _ cariño.  _ If you disrespect me in public, I can’t promise you’ll live to do it again. Or much of anything, for that matter.” He patted Lovino’s ass, and the Italian could feel himself filling with rage and embarrassment. People would, no doubt, see them in the halls. When they passed a rather hefty woman with wide, shocked eyes and a round mouth, Lovino wanted to dig a ditch and throw himself into it.

Lovino hid his face in his hands, the blood beginning to rush to his head as they moved along. “Let me down, my head hurts,” he demanded, quieter this time, minding Antonio’s previous words. “ _Su_ _ Majestad!” _

Antonio peered back at him over his shoulder in a glance before moving Lovino so that he was bridal-style in his arms. “Is this better? I am only taking you to your room, by the way. As much as I would love to _perder el tiempo_ with you, I have some important party-related matters to attend to. Besides, you need to get ready. I am not sure who dressed you today, but you look a mess,  _ Lovinito. _ ”

Lovino furrowed his brows in displeasure, opening his mouth to smart-off, but Antonio gave him a single warning look that had him rendered silent. His face was still hot, and this position was somehow more embarrassing than the one before. Antonio’s strong arms were holding him, showing almost-kindness. They walked past a few more people, mostly servants who kept their eyes down, and Lovino watched the way Antonio’s strong and confident expression never changed. His heels clicked as he walked, his broad shoulder sat back, and he paid no mind to anyone he walked by. 

Once at Lovino’s room, Antonio set him down. Using the side of his hand, he caressed Lovino’s face. Lovino only averted his eyes, a slight scowl on his face. 

“I’ll send Mateo up here. He’ll get you ready. I cannot wait to see you tonight, dressed up for me,” Antonio murmured, peering at Lovino with lust in his eyes. Lovino moved his face away, which was still warm from the gesture of being carried to his room. 

“Don’t you have something to do?” Lovino asked, wanting him to leave him alone finally. Antonio pulled his hand back, looking at Lovino with a slight frown. 

“One day, you’ll learn to appreciate my kindness,” Antonio promised, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. He stepped away, toward the stairs. “Then again, you sometimes have to see the bad to appreciate the good. It’s only a matter of time.”

Lovino stayed frozen in the doorway, eyes trailing after Antonio when he left. He wondered just how much Antonio would take. He’d have to snap at some point. Lovino figured that he shouldn’t be pushing Antonio’s boundaries, but maybe Antonio would come to the realization that Lovino didn’t want to be there, and that he was being a sick sadist by holding him there.  _ Maybe. Just maybe. _

_ - _

_ Rough Translations _

El Rey - the king  
lo que sea - whatever  
Ahora, bésame - Now, kiss me  
chiquito - little, tiny  
angelito - little angel  
querido - dear  
mi corazón - my heart  
cariño - sweetheart, sweetie  
perder el tiempo - to waste time


	4. When I Say Dance, You Will Dance.

Mateo came up to his room after a while, a pair of fine leather shoes and a red outfit in his hands. Lovino should’ve predicted that Antonio would want him dressed in red. Silently, Mateo handed the clothes, but before Lovino could turn away, he spoke. 

“Do not change yet. The King has asked that you bathe. I’ll need you to follow me,” he said, emotionlessly. Lovino was happy to hear that he’d be getting to bathe, but only nodded and followed Mateo to the main level. 

“This is the South Wing. There is a bathhouse in both the North and South Wings. You may use the South one only; the North is reserved for court members. Have you ever visited a bathhouse before?” Mateo asked Lovino, awaiting his answer with a quirked eyebrow. Lovino shook his head, holding a fresh towel in his arms. “Then it will be a new experience for you.”

They entered the bathhouse and Lovino was immediately hit with intense heat and steam. It was like a giant swimming pool, with stone steps, but indoors. Small cherub statuettes stood at each corner, arrows pointed to the ceiling, with water pouring out of the arrowhead. Other men soaked in the water, men Lovino hadn’t ever seen before. Now, Lovino was seeing all of them, head to toe, naked.

Mateo seemed unfazed. He led Lovino to a wooden bench where he instructed Lovino to remove his robe. Shyly, but attempting to play it off like he wasn’t, Lovino did as told. Mateo folded it up and set it on the bench beside the towel. 

“Wash yourself very thoroughly. There are scented washes and soups along that wall. After you are finished, return to your room, dress, and meet me in my office. We will run through some basic  _ etiqueta  _ before you are bombarded with questions and small talk,” Mateo instructed, waiting for Lovino to nod and agree before he left the bathhouse. Lovino looked around nervously, deciding to just get into the water where his body would be less visible. 

He grabbed a soap bar from the wall and stepped into the warm pool. He sat a considerable distance from the other few men, some of which chatted amongst themselves as though this was a totally normal situation. Some of them glanced his way, looked at him for a moment, and then went back to talking. Lovino felt humiliated being completely naked in front of multiple strangers. He sunk down into the water and quickly lathered himself in soap. 

When Lovino exited the bathhouse, he smelled of berries. Deciding that it was odd but nice, he was content with it. When he returned to his room, he dressed, taking great care to put things on in the order that Mateo had told him. The outfit consisted of brown trousers that tapered off and ended just below his knee, which stockings that covered the rest of his legs, the fine leather shoes with silver buckles, a long-sleeved white undershirt with a very over-the-top lace collar, a brown vest that buttoned over the undershirt, and a bright-red double-breasted doublet with gold embroidery around the edges and full sleeves. Antonio must have liked full sleeves, because most everything Lovino wore featured them. Lovino felt that his hair was still damp and he brushed it back away from his face with his fingers.

He was growing nervous. He knew he could just stay in his room, but he wasn’t going to pass this chance up. Maybe someone would be able to tell him how to escape, someone could accidentally reveal a useful piece of information. 

But, even if he had the chance to, would Lovino dare to escape? To put his brother in danger, to force both of them to live on the run, abandoning everything they owned, everything they knew? King Antonio was a stubborn, deceitful man. He would have what he wanted, eventually, and Lovino was starting to feel his strong-willed personality wilt.  _ No, Vargas. Don't you dare begin to give in to that man. _

Dressed in beautiful red embroidery and smelling like lavender, Lovino held a firm frown on his face as he was led out of his dressing room and to the main courtyard. 

_ An outdoor ball? I've never heard of such a thing. _ But it seemed fitting, as though the area had been constructed for that very occasion. There was a large stone flooring, surrounded by beautifully cultivated plants and flowers. Fruit trees hung over the heads of hundreds of people Lovino had never seen before. They were royal, so why would he have?  _ Then again, you're royal too, supposedly. _

It was a whirlwind of an atmosphere. Music traipsed through the air from a band of several men playing fine instruments. Torches lit the area through stained-glass lamps, giving everything a colorful glow. The people talked and laughed and mingled, in their fancy clothes and fine shoes. Lovino stood at the entrance of it all, overwhelmed. What was he supposed to do in a setting like this? Dance with people far out of his social class, try to convince a total stranger to help him out of his situation?

It was better than doing nothing, he supposed.

He did not see the King anywhere. He did catch Francis, standing beside a very pale man with nearly white hair. But Francis was not a friend of his if he was a friend of the King. The sun was setting, and the sky looked beautiful, but Lovino felt nothing but unease. 

He headed to grab something small to eat, a pastry of some sort, from a large buffet table. When he turned around, though, he bumped directly into a tall, blond man with dark-rimmed glasses. The man turned, a little jolted, and Lovino began to apologize. 

" _ Disculpe señor, me disculpo--" _

"Oh! I don't speak any Spanish,  _ amigo _ , but no need to apologize!" the man jostled, bringing a hand up to pause Lovino's words. Lovino stared incredulously.  _ An American? I've never met one in my life. _

Beside him, a shorter, but also blond man with green eyes spoke. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Alfred. I'm sure this young noble speaks plenty of English."

_ Noble. _ It was that obvious, when all Lovino had done was changed his clothing? "I do, and again, I apologize for bumping into you. I'll just be going--"

"I haven't met you before," the first man, Alfred, said. He presented a smile, enhanced by perfect teeth. "Allow me to introduce myself! I'm Sir Alfred Jones, although that title means nothing in my country of origin. And this is my friend--"

"King Arthur of the Great British Empire," the second man interrupted. He presented a hand, asking, "Pleased to meet you."

Lovino gaped.  _ Another King, and Lovino was just standing here chatting with him!  _ Quickly, Lovino fell into a short bow, saying, "Please forgive my manners, Your Majesty, I did not know."

"No mind, we are here to have a pleasant time. Such formalities are not necessary," the King said simply, giving Lovino one pat on his shoulder.  _ What in the world have I gotten myself into? _

"My name is Lovino Vargas, and I… have a title, I think, only I have no clue what it is," Lovino said, grumbling the last part. It wasn't fair that he had to make a fool of himself in front of all of these important, very powerful people.  _ He had no title, no name, no money. He was a slave to a cruel King, and couldn't even elaborate on that. _

"How strange," Sir Allen mused, but the band interrupted him by beginning a beautiful and boisterous score. Everyone turned to look in the direction of the altered music, curious to know what was happening. And then Lovino spotted him, King Antonio, entering the courtyard with servants at his heels. 

He looked like any King from a storybook. His outfit could have been sewn with liquid golden thread, for all Lovino knew. It consisted of the finest fabric Lovino had seen, far finer than anything you could buy at the village shops. And he boasted that million-dollar smile, greeting all of his adoring guests as she strolled into the courtyard like a God. Lovino snarled, turning away in disgust. How could one man be so vain and vile? 

He wanted to leave, now. He was not going to have any success with an escape plan, and this much he knew by then. These people were loyal to Antonio, royalty themselves, and they would not feel pity for a lowly man like himself. Antonio was situated in the center of the courtyard, giving some sort of welcome to his esteemed crowd. Lovino was so beyond out-of-place that it wasn't funny. It was one thing to slink around the palace, surrounded only by Antonio's servants and the occasional royal family member. It was entirely different to be surrounded by people who would likely snitch on him to Antonio for any wrong move. 

The dancing began again as the music settled into a waltz. A woman that Lovino had noticed when he arrived was swept into Antonio's arms, and he watched with a cold gaze as the man twirled the girl around the floor. She was blond, young, and dazzled in a pink gown. But Lovino wanted to watch no more.  _ Why couldn't Antonio just take that  _ donnaccia  _ to bed tonight instead of me? _

He headed for the entrance to the castle but was blocked by a guard. Stone-faced, wordless. He should've known that escaping would not be that easy. 

"I want to leave. Let me through," Lovino demanded of the man, dressed in Spanish military uniform. 

"Nobody is to enter the castle."

"I fucking  _ live _ in the castle, so let me through!"

"No,  _ Señor _ Vargas, I cannot. Per  _ El Majestad _ ."

Lovino let out an audible groan, why was everyone in this insufferable place so goddamn difficult? He turned on his heel, peering out into the lively crowd once again. Antonio was dancing with a new woman now, saying something to her that caused her to turn red.  _ He's absolutely insufferable.  _ Lovino had to get out of there, soon. He was feeling dizzy just from being in such a large crowd, and it was hot, and his clothes were stuffy. When the music slowed and the dancing royals took their leave from the center of the floor, Lovino weaved his way through the crowd. Antonio was talking to some important-looking men, barrelling with laughter over the wine they drank. Lovino stood behind him, waiting for them to be finished, knowing that interrupting the man in public could lead to a bad situation. 

"--a new addition, which I find very much to my tastes. What do you think, gentlemen? You can exhibit the fine workmanship directly from the windows above the courtyard," Antonio was saying before he motioned behind him at the castle walls. Lovino ducked, nearly missing the man's hand. Surprised, Antonio turned partly to the shorter man. "Lovino? I nearly took out your eye."

_ I'm sure you would've been happy to! _ Lovino grumbled in his head, only giving a short shrug to the man. 

"Beautiful work, my King," one of the men said, in response to the conversation the men had been having. They'd glazed over Lovino, but were uninterested. "I'm pleased that my men were able to satisfy you."

Antonio was finished talking about windows though, it seemed. He put an arm around Lovino's shoulders and yanked the boy to his side, earning a yelp from the Italian. "Look here, gentlemen. My own little cousin, come to chat. Greet them,  _ Lovinito _ ."

Lovino was not 'little'. He was seventeen, a grown man. "Hello," he said firmly, eyes shifting away from the older men standing before him. 

"Cousin of the King? I apologize, Your Highness--" one of the men began to blunder, tripping over himself in embarrassment. Lovino furrowed his brows, ready to correct him, but there was no need. Antonio cut him off before he had the chance. 

"No, he is not Your Highness," the man said, tone void of any emotion. "Lovino has no title."

Why did Antonio have to embarrass him in front of these men, make him feel even more lowly than he already did? Lovino struggled against his grip, desperate to get away. The man was terrible, forcing him to stand here and be looked down upon by every person in the room. "I do not need to be introduced,  _ Majestad, _ I am only leaving," he bit, to which Antonio looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

"Leaving? Wherever to?"

"I do not want to have this conversation with… an audience," Lovino hissed at him, voice low. His eyes shifted to the uncomfortable-looking men before them. He was trying to give Antonio a hint.  _ What I'm about to do is disrespectful, and I'd rather not get punished for doing it in front of your guests. _

Antonio paused a moment, and Lovino thought he was getting his way. That was until a grin spread across Antonio's face, and he cocked his head to the side. "Whatever you wish to say to me,  _ querido _ , you can say before my guests."

Lovino glanced at the men once again, looking for a reaction to the King calling him, another grown male, such a pet name. How bold he was to do such a thing. And sure enough, the men had adjusted their gazes to the floor, uncomfortable. Antonio's fingernails dug into Lovino's shoulder at that moment, forcing the man to bring a pained gaze to him. "Well?"

"I wish to leave this party."

"Why is that, Lovinito? You do not appreciate the music?"

Lovino grit his teeth. Antonio was toying with him. "I am afraid I do not enjoy crowds. I feel dizzy and weak. I would like to lie down."

"Dizzy, you say?" Antonio quipped. Then, he took Lovino by both shoulders and barrelled the man through the crowd, unto the center of the stone floor. There they stood, in their own little bubble, but with the side-glances of every person in attendance of the ball. 

"What are you doing?" Lovino demanded, voice low. Antonio ignored him, placing one hand on the Italian's back and using the other to take ahold of Lovino's own in a vice-like grip. 

"We shall dance, _corazón_ , until you finally learn to be appreciative of the music."

Antonio pulled both of them right into the steps of the lively waltz. Lovino faltered, head spinning more with every turn they made. He felt panic rising in his chest. All of these people were staring at the two of them, two men dancing together, one of them the  _ King _ , nonetheless. He was drowning in the noise of the whole affair, the feeling of Antonio's body against his only making him feel warmer. He nearly tripped over his own feet, unable to concentrate. 

"Antonio," he said firmly, attempting to get the man's attention. Either he didn't hear, or he didn't care, because Lovino received no answer. Swallowing with difficulty, Lovino spoke again. "Antonio.  _ Majestad,  _ I must stop dancing."

"You must do as  _ I say _ ."

"No," Lovino countered, voice faltering as their conjoined bodies turned once again. He was lightheaded, his vision was blurry, and it was so unbelievably  _ hot _ . "I  _ must _ stop, Antonio, you are not understanding--"

"You will address me as your King," Antonio said into his ear, voice nothing more than a growl. They continued to spin, around and around and around at a faster pace each time than before. "And when I say dance, you will dance."

But it mattered little what the King said, because one more sharp spin was all it took to buckle Lovino's knees out from under him, and the sharp pain in his head turned his vision entirely black. 

This bed was not the one he'd been sleeping on for the past few days. That one had been comfortable, but this one was heavenly. Perhaps stuffed with feathers? Lovino couldn't be sure. But he was covered in a soft blanket, and warm, possibly too warm. He shifted, but felt weight beside him, and realized he was lying beside an entirely different thermal source. Antonio looked down at him, tsked his tongue, and asked, "Finally awake, are you?"

Lovino jolted. He moved as far from Antonio's body as he could get, but while the bed was large, Antonio was lying squarely in the middle of it. 

And thank God, Lovino was wearing clothing/

There was a pitcher of water on the bed-side table and a cool rag on his forehead. Antonio was reading something beside him, pieces of parchment with perfectly inked writing. He even had glasses on his face, and Lovino just wanted to hide from him, even if he looked docile. Because Lovino knew he was anything but, and that the terrible mood swings were worse when he least expected it. 

"You know, you could've saved me a lot of trouble if you had told someone you felt sick."

Lovino stared at him, incredulous. "Are you being  _ serious _ ?"

Antonio hummed, turning the page he was reading. "Aren't I always?"

"You're the worst person alive," Lovino said solemnly. He pulled the towel from his head and began to get up, pushing the blankets from his body. 

"What are you doing? Lay down."

"No."

" Lovino ," Antonio boomed. His eyes finally met Lovino's face. "Don't move another muscle."

Lovino paused, sitting on the edge of the bed. He felt paralyzed, knowing that if he made another move, Antonio would turn from annoying to enraged. Slowly, he laid back down, bringing the blankets to his chin. 

"Did you enjoy the party?"

"What?" Lovino asked, taken aback from the question. "No, I think that's a little obvious."

Finally, Antonio set his papers on the side table. Lovino watched with cautious eyes. The room was large and lush, the curtains thick and heavy, the red velvet fabric resonating in several areas of the room, from the rugs on the floor to the blankets on the bed. His eyes were brought back to the man beside him, who pulled his chemise from over his head and tossed it on the floor.

He was tan, and fit, just like anyone would be able to tell regardless. And his being partially naked only proved to make Lovino more on edge. He could only hope Antonio had no plans to pull anything tonight, considering Lovino had  _ literally fainted _ , nevermind the fact that he was unwilling. Antonio had made it very clear that his opinions on the matter were irrelevant. 

"Come here," the man beside him spoke. Lovino only looked at him with a frown. "Come, you're lying in  _ my _ bed, _mi_ _ tesoro _ . You have no choice."

He slowly moved closer to Antonio, tensing when the man placed a strong arm around his waist. He was still dressed  but Antonio was not, at least not on his torso. And Lovino was scared to find out the rest. 

"There are women who will do whatever you want," Lovino said simply. His voice was quiet because his own words made him nervous. "Girls who are downstairs still, I am sure. Girls you danced with tonight."

"Jealous, hm?" Antonio lilted. He pressed his body against Lovino's, making the Italian quiver. "I don't know what you are trying to accomplish here, but it won't get you far. 

"The only thing I want to accomplish is placing as much distance between you and me as physically possible."

"You're such a stubborn thing, really. Sometimes it's a turn-on, and other times it makes me want to smack that look off of your pretty face,  _ querido _ . I've had a stressful night, can you not be empathetic?"

"Empathy?" Lovino spat, turning his face fiercely to the side when Antonio's hand came to brush at his cheek. "You will never have my empathy, you  _ stronzo malato. _ "

"I wish you would stop speaking that ugly language, and put your mouth to better use."

"Fuck off!" Lovino griped, shoving at Antonio's chest as he came closer. 

But the man was unrelenting, using his vice-like grip on the Italian to pull him closer, his other hand gripping Lovino's jaw tightly. The younger man made noises of disapproval that were only ignored. "You'll learn to be nice to me,  _ Lovinito, _ or else you'll learn what it feels like to know your younger brother is dead."

He couldn't help it. The venom laced in Antonio's tone, the fact that he knew he was right; tears welled in Lovino's eyes despite his best efforts. His headache had returned, and he gave up struggling against the stronger man's arms. The tears would spill any second, taking his dignity with him, as Antonio's cold, green eyes peered into Lovino's own hazel ones. 

"You're pitiful," the man said, now nearly above Lovino, propped over his body. "All you have to do is behave, and your brother lives. You don't even care enough about him to do that much? Then you cry as if it isn't your own doing?"

"I hate you," said Lovino, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I wish you'd just die."

He'd taken it too far. That was when Lovino learned what it felt like to be backhanded across the face by a man twice his size, jolting across the bed at Antonio's strength. He cried out, skin stinging sharply at the contact. His pride was completely gone and the sob that he choked out no longer made him feel ashamed. He brought his hands to his face and hid himself from any more of Antonio's wrath. 

"How dare you say such a thing to the King of Spain," the man's voice cut through the air like a cold, steel sword. "I should just kill you now for treason."

Lovino said nothing, eyes and face burning, only trying to collect his choppy breathing. 

"You appreciate nothing, you insolent bitch. I have the finest clothing and food made for you, I put you in a room of your own in the  _ castle _ of the  _ Spanish court _ . You attend royal parties, strut around my castle like a harlot. And then you wish  _ death _ upon the  _ King of Spain! _ Do _you_ have a death wish,  _ cabrón?" _

Antonio was standing now, knocking around the room loudly. Whatever had been placed on his side table was swiped off, clattering to the floor loudly. Lovino could only tremble from his spot. That was until Antonio ripped the blankets from the bed in one swift motion, flinging them across the room. Lovino let out a fearful cry, scrambling up toward the headboard of the grand bed. Antonio looked like a mad-man; Lovino had never seen his eyes so dark. With one attempt, Antonio had clamped down on one of his legs, pulling the Italian to the end of the bed despite his attempts to resist. Lovino even grabbed onto the headboard of the bed, but Antonio was far stronger than he, and with one painful tug, Lovino's fingers slipped and the headboard came toppling forwards, unhinged from the wall. 

"Let me go! Let me go, let me go, you're hurting me!" he cried out on repeat, sliding against the silken sheets as Antonio's nails dug into his skin. Tears spilled from his face, panic rose his adrenaline high. "Stop, stop, stop!"

"No," Antonio barked, and when Lovino was at the foot of the bed where he stood, the man clamped his wrists behind his back. Lovino bellowed in pain as he was pulled upright onto his knees, the sockets of his arms twisting in pain. He was forced to fall backward against Antonio's chest, his head hitting the man's shoulder. "Tell me again, Lovino. Let me hear how much you hate me, how you want me to rot in the ground."

"Let me go," Lovino only sobbed, face contorting in pain with every struggle he made. "Please, God, let go of me."

"I am not your God. I am  _ El Diablo, _ remember, Lovinito?"

"I'll do whatever you want, stop hurting me,  _ please! _ "

Antonio's voice was directly in his ear, his lips brushing against the skin. Lovino flinched away, but there was nowhere to go. "You will never wish death upon me again. And you will lose that disrespectful attitude of yours because your very life depends on it."

He was shoved forward onto the bed again, and he hit it with a thud. By the time Lovino had himself up onto his hands, Antonio was gone. Vanished from the room like a ghost. The room itself was in total disarray, but Lovino's eyes were so blurry from tears that it made no difference. He slumped, all energy gone from his body, and let his frustration leave him in sobs. 

If keeping Feliciano safe meant enduring Antonio's wrath, he would do it, but he wasn't sure if he would survive it.

-

**etiqueta - etiquette  
Disculpe señor, me disculpo-- excuse me sir, I apologize--  
donnaccia - slut/whore  
querido - dear  
corazón - heart/love  
mi tesoro - my treasure  
stronzo malato - sick asshole, etc.  
cabrón - dumbass**


	5. Mary, Queen of England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry. things start to get better between them soon, but it truly is a process

Antonio never returned that night. Lovino wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave or not, but he hadn't been told to, so he remained quivering like a little child in the massive bed, blankets wrapped around him. He even picked up all of the items Antonio had thrown around the room, tried to place the headboard back into its spot, and stayed silent the entire night. 

Someone entered a little after the sun rose, a servant, and was surprised to find him instead of the King. "Señor Vargas," the lady had said, a little sheepishly. "I apologize for intruding."

"You are fine," Lovino replied quietly. "He is not here."

He left after the lady began to straighten up the room. His bare feet padded against the floor as he walked back to his room, a far distance from the King's. He nearly got lost but found his way, although he took notice of the odd looks the servants were giving him.  _ Had word traveled that quickly that I woke up in his room? _

But he realized quickly that he'd assumed incorrectly. Looking in the mirror in his own room, he witnessed the dark red marks on his face, almost like love-bite bruises in the shape of a hand-print, and he felt embarrassment unlike ever before. 

After a short time passed, a knock came at his bedroom door. "Señor Vargas, breakfast will be served soon."

"I am not hungry today Mateo."

"Señor Vargas, you and I both know that it is not up to you."

It was true, he supposed. Lovino took another look in the mirror. He'd since changed out of the clothing he'd slept in, his fancy clothes from the night before. Now he wore another simple chemise with trousers and felt much more like himself. He was still disoriented from the night before, as though it were a dream. But the pain in his joints and the mark on his face proved otherwise. 

So he walked down the grand staircase, ignoring the looks he was given by the house staff. It wasn't as though the mark would be going anywhere anytime soon, so he might as well get used to it. When he entered the dining room, Antonio was sitting in his usual spot, and his eyes met Lovino's with no time to spare. 

Lovino found his seat, looked down at the bare plate before him on the oak-wood table. Neither spoke immediately. The food was brought out, and Lovino began to eat, Antonio's eyes on him the entire time. 

"Did you enjoy sleeping in my bed?"

Lovino paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "If you had told me to leave, I would have,  _ Majestad _ ."

Antonio's face was blank, his chocolate-colored hair pulled back into a low ponytail today. A few loose waves framed his face, Lovino noticed, as though it would be out of his character to be perfectly put together. He wore a white undershirt, a deep red doublet fastened over top. "I'll have ice and rose oil sent to your room for your face."

He began to eat after that, and Lovino frowned at his inability to even acknowledge the mark that  _ he _ had created. It inconvenienced Antonio, probably, to have his pretty toy run around with such an ugly mark on his face. Pushing his anger down, Lovino resumed eating, clearing his plate in record time. 

"I'd like to be dismissed," he said curtly, pushing his plate away from him. Antonio looked up from his own plate. "I'm done eating."

"Are you going to sulk forever now?"

"What?" Lovino snapped his eyes to Antonio. 

"If you're just going to be a passive little  _ joda, _ do not even bother leaving your room again. I don't have the energy to deal with it."

"Yes, _ Your Majesty _ ," Lovino replied, pushing his chair from the table and standing. He even gave a little bow, for good measure. Antonio stared, brows furrowed. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Then, as Lovino stomped out of the room, Antonio regarded Francis with a frown. "He cannot stay in there forever. He has to eat. He has to take a piss. Why is he being so stubborn in the first place?"

"You slapped him across the face."

"He was asking for it, Francis."

The blond sat opposite the King, checking his nails. Antonio had his elbows on his knees, brows knitted in deep thought. Francis crossed one leg over the other, saying, "Antonio, you will never convince him to be...  _ amicable _ with you if you continue to make the poor kid cry."

"Don't call him that," Antonio said sharply. "He is a horror. He does not deserve your pity."

"And neither do you,  _ mon ami _ , but I am here, nonetheless."

"He is difficult, childish. He expects to be spoiled rotten. He is ill-mannered and foul-mouthed and annoying and hateful and--"

"So, throw him out. Kill him. Why bother with him at all?"

Antonio's jaw tightened. "Are you blind? He's fucking pretty. Different from anything I've had before. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand. I _have_ seen him, danced with him..."

"Quiet, pervert," Antonio grumbled. "You are not helping."

"Do something for him that makes you seem like a good person. Obviously, you cannot do a  _ much-needed _ personality overhaul in one day, but you can make him be thankful for something you've done."

"Why do I even keep you around as a friend?" Antonio bit. "And what could I do for him, when I have already done so much to no avail? The kid doesn't care about fine clothes, food, housing..."

"He didn't  _ ask _ for any of those things, Toni, you keep forgetting that you kidnapped _le garçon_ from his home."

Antonio abruptly sat back in his chair, frown on his face as his fingers drummed on the arm. "He has asked me for one favor this entire time, to hear from his brother. He came to me and asked me to send a letter, but did not want to pay the price."

A chuckle. "Oh, I am sure I know what sort of price you wanted to be paid."

Antonio shot him a look but ignored the comment. "I sent the letter."

"Has one come back in return?"

"Maybe? It may have arrived today, Hell if I know."

"Well, then, go check, my friend. Be the person who gives the letter to him. It's the one thing he wants right now, yes? Be the one to fulfill his wish."

Lovino sat on the edge of his bed, book in hand. He was growing bored in this room, locked up in his pretty tower. There were a few shelves in the room, various books placed throughout, and Lovino figured he might read to pass the time. He never remembered learning to read, but both he and his brother knew how. Hardly anyone else in his village did. But he supposed that, if it were true that he was royalty, his education when he was very young had probably been worth substantially more than that of the common people.

A knock jolted him from his mind. It wasn't like Mateo's muted knocks. No, it was three loud raps, and he stood in surprise. Going to the door, he placed his hand on the handle, but paused. 

"Who is it?" he asked, eyeing the door suspiciously.

"Mary, Queen of England," mocked Antonio from the other side. "Who do you suppose?"

"What do you want? You said I didn't have to leave my room."

"And you don't, but you  _ do  _ have to open this door and let me inside."

Lovino frowned, unlocked the door, and pulled it open before quickly stepping away. The King had a bored look on his face but held something curious in his hand. It was an envelope, Lovino realized, and his eyes zeroed in. His village post office's stamp adorned the front, and without thought, he lunged forward to snag it out of Antonio's hand. 

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. _I_ _ mpaciente _ . Although I do appreciate the warm welcome," the Spaniard grumbled, pulling his hand out of Lovino's reach. The Italian collided with his side, displeased. "Where are your manners?"

"Give me that," Lovino asked, _no_ , demanded. He looked Antonio squarely in the eye. "Antonio! If you care about my feelings at all, you will hand that letter to me."

"Whoever told you I care about your feelings is a cruel, cruel liar," Antonio answered simply, holding the letter in the air, and subsequently out of Lovino's reach. Lovino went unphased by the comment. "You _will_ pay me for this letter."

"And how do you expect me to do that,  _ bastardo? _ "

"A kiss, of course," Antonio grinned. "And then, when you are overwhelmed with appreciation for my kindness, perhaps you will be willing to give more."

Lovino scowled, but he could bargain. "One kiss, you  _ bugiardo patetico _ . That is bad enough. And then I want my damn letter!"

Antonio entered the room, closing the door behind him, although it mattered not who saw or spied. Antonio was the King, and if he wanted to have someone, who was going to stop him? He tossed the letter on the set of drawers without a glance before taking Lovino by his (fearful) face, cupping his cheeks. Lovino did his best not to recoil in disgust as Antonio come close, touched him, leaned down to taste him. But Antonio only grinned wickedly before he kissed those soft lips once again, just as he had before. 

Lovino also tried not to squirm but felt only disdain when Antonio's lips met his own. Under any other circumstances, in a different reality, Lovino may have found the man attractive. He simply was, after all. He was the model of a perfect man, resembling the beautiful marble visages of the greatest Italian sculptors. He had no imperfections, it seemed, save for a few bodily scars that only proved to make him look more capable. But the person that he was at heart meant that none of that mattered. So Lovino shut his eyes tightly as Antonio's lips moved against his own to avoid having to look at the man he was kissing. 

After a beat, Lovino felt Antonio's tongue prod against his lips. "No!" he gasped as he pulled away, hand coming up to wipe at his mouth. "That is more than 'one kiss'!"

"Lovino," Antonio said seriously. His arms fell to his side. "Are you once again forgetting who is in charge?"

"I would like my letter now,  _ please _ ," the Italian emphasized the final word, holding his hand out expectantly.

_ "Dios mío, eres aún más exigente que una mujer..."  _ muttered Antonio as he grabbed the letter from the drawer set and handed it to Lovino. Quickly, Lovino ripped the envelope open and brought out the parchment, unfolding it before he began to read. But, pausing, he looked at Antonio. 

"Can't I read my letter in my own privacy _?" _

"No."

Lovino cursed under his breath but resumed reading. Feliciano had written back that he was ecstatic to hear that Lovino was okay, but had been crying himself to sleep every single night that he'd been gone. He was worried for Lovino's safety, but assured the older brother of his own. And, of course, he demanded that Lovino include more detail the next time he wrote. 

His chest was tight. He missed his brother more than anything. Missed his grandfather. Missed the life he lived only a short week ago. But we commanded himself not to cry, placing the letter back in the envelope. 

Then, he again looked at Antonio in a glance, saying, "Thank you."

Antonio smiled. Francis's plan had worked. "Write a response, I will have it sent."

"On what conditions?"

"That you sleep in my bed again tonight."

"I refuse," Lovino quickly denied. He still trembled at the thought of the night before. He wanted nothing to do with Antonio, much less in the confines of that room. "I won't do it."

"Oh, you'll do it," Antonio said simply. He was on his way out of the room, one hand on the door handle. "It's a matter of if you'll do it willingly, or if I'll have to toss you over my shoulder and carry you there myself. If you comply, I'll send the letter,  _ querido _ ."

That night, Lovino did comply. He had a freshly-written letter, ink still drying, in his hand when he went to Antonio's bedroom door wearing his white linen nightgown and stockings. He had refused to eat dinner with the man, and this time, Mateo had not argued. After all, it was Antonio who had told him to stay inside his room for the remainder of the day. 

"Enter," Antonio said from the room when Lovino had knocked. He opened the door, finding Antonio changing in the center of the floor. There was a candle lit on each bed-side table. The flickering glow illuminated the man's toned back as he pulled a sleeping chemise over his head. 

Lovino placed the letter on the drawer set closest to the door, hoping Antonio would see it on his way out in the morning. If nothing else, the man was usually true to his word, it seemed. Then, he padded over to the side of the bed he'd been placed in the night before and noticed that the headboard had magically been fixed. But he decided against commenting, for fear of bringing up bad memories.

"Are you tired?" asked Antonio, out of the blue. Lovino answered with what he figured would be the answer most likely to keep him out of the man's grip, if there was one. 

"Very."

"Impossible. You stayed in your room all day, I'm sure you slept. Don't lie to me,  _ mi corazon. _ "

Lovino said nothing to this, only pulled the blankets over his body. 

Antonio came over, climbed into the bed, and looked at the Italian with lazy, hooded eyes. Truthfully,  _ he _ was tired, but Lovino was so damn interesting to look at. He wanted to take ahold of his slim face, suck at his sharp jawline. And he knew that he could, too, because he could do whatever he wanted. But it was not the way to make Lovino feel at ease around him. He wasn't entirely sure when that had become his goal, but it had, mostly because he wanted the Italian to want  _ him _ as badly as he wanted _Lovino_. 

The idea of Lovino begging for him was nearly irresistible, and brought a smirk to his face. 

"Don't look at me like that, sick bastard," Lovino quipped, almost hiding entirely under the blankets. 

"Come out from under there,  _ Lovinito _ . I want to see your face. It is nearly the only enjoyable thing about you."

"Insulting me is not going to make me want to listen to you."

Antonio pulled the blankets back from Lovino's face, who looked at him with unease in his eyes. It reminded him too much of the night before, and Antonio peered closely at the red hand-print on the boy's cheek. It was a nasty-looking thing, and Antonio wished he hadn't hit the boy so hard, if only to keep his skin pristine. 

"Why can't you just go to sleep," Lovino grumbled, flinching just slightly when Antonio's fingertips met his bruised cheek. "I said I'd sleep in your bed, not that I'd entertain you all night."

"Oh, I  _ know _ you can entertain me all night," Antonio assured. He brushed his knuckles down Lovino's jaw. Lovino watched out of his peripheral, and only just noticed that Antonio had his long hair down, loose waves hitting his shoulders. "I have no worries about that,  _ hermosito _ ." 

"Stop calling me things like that. I'm not your lover."

"You'll be whatever I want you to be, Lovino."

"So why continue to wait?" Lovino glared at him now, the light of the flame accentuating the shadows of his face. "If you are just going to take what you want anyway, there's no point in dragging this out."

Antonio said nothing for a moment, continuing to trace the outline of Lovino's face with his fingers. Over his cheekbones, around his ear, across his chin. "I have no obligation to explain myself to you."

"Maybe so," Lovino answered. "But constantly worrying about when you'll jump from around the corner and attack is taking a toll on my sanity."

Antonio's eyes darkened slightly, and Lovino figured he probably shouldn't have said anything at all. "You talk too freely. You should watch your mouth around me more,  _ chiquito." _

Lovino almost apologized. They fell into a silence, Antonio's hand still traveling around Lovino's visage. His fingers began to card through Lovino's hair, noting how soft it felt, and how Lovino almost,  _ almost,  _ relaxed under his fingers. It was fascinating, really, to watch some of the tension leave his features, and Antonio felt driven to make it happen on an even larger scale. He wondered how Lovino looked completely at ease, or even better, in euphoria. 

He would find out soon enough. Unraveling him slowly was rewarding enough for now.

But Antonio was pulled from his thoughts when his hand had drifted to the opposite side of Lovino's head, and upon his fingernails brushing against the boy's scalp, Lovino jolted. Antonio's hand paused and he stared at Lovino's face in interest, only to find that he had his eyes closed and looked nearly in pain. 

"What's this look on your face?"

"Nothing. I don't enjoy my hair being touched."

"I beg to differ," replied Antonio. "A moment ago you looked calm."

"Well, it's different right there," Lovino snapped, to which Antonio quirked a cautionary eyebrow. Smoothing out his tone, he added, "I don't want to talk about it."

Antonio was curious now, though, and curiosity turned him into a child. He waited, thinking of his next move, before he decided to ignore Lovino's words and brush his nails through his hair in that same spot again. Lovino's face contorted once more, and he grit his teeth, demanding, "Stop doing that!"

"Why?" Antonio asked, feigning innocence. Was it truly pain that Lovino was feeling, or something different? Loving knew that smacking Antonio's hand away was a bad idea, no matter how badly he wanted to at that moment. 

Experimentally, Antonio wrapped his fingers around a lock of the hair on the right side of Lovino's head and gave a little tug. This elicited a more… explicit response from the Italian. Lovino sucked in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the comforter tightly. And Antonio felt like he'd found some sort of hidden treasure, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. 

"So, it isn't pain, after all. Once again,  _ Lovinito, _ you've deceived me."

"Leave my hair alone," Lovino huffed, using a hand around Antonio's arm to pull the man's hand away from his scalp. Antonio, surprisingly, let him. His arm fell at his side again, but Lovino's hand awkwardly lingered. He pulled it back, unsure of why he'd initiated contact in the first place, and brought himself back beneath the blankets. Antonio was staring at him, but his face was unreadable. Lovino felt embarrassed that the man had found his weak spot, but he didn't want to let any more emotion show than he already had. 

He thought it was over, that maybe he could go to sleep now, but Antonio was not finished. His hand snaked between the blankets, finding an unassuming Lovino beneath. The boy jumped when cold fingers ghosted over his waist, his linen nightshirt having been rather thin. "What are you doing?" he asked, shock showing in his voice. Not only shock, though, as Antonio picked up on the fear. 

"Shh," he hushed, but it was a firm demand, not a suggestion. Lovino went rigid at the touch of Antonio's hand on his waist, feeling the man's fingertips nearly tickle him as they brushed up his sides. "Why are you so tense?"

"Because I don't want to be touched, especially not by you, and especially not  _ there _ ."

"Where?" Antonio asked, once again playing coy. "Here?" And then his hand gripped Lovino at the waist, tugging the boy closer to him. Lovino protested, but it fell on deaf ears. 

"I don't want to, Antonio," Lovino was saying, displeased, as he was pressed against Antonio's chest. "I'm serious!  I don't want to, I know you don't care but I--"

"Be quiet," Antonio piped. His hand continued to explore Lovino's stomach. "I am not fucking you tonight. So stop with the bitching."

Lovino fell quiet again. At least he had that much confirmation, and it helped to ease his nerves, but the heat from Antonio's hand did not. Then, Antonio ordered, "Touch me."

"What?"

"With your  _ hands _ . Touch me. My face, my chest, whatever, just do it."

Lovino didn't want to, but he didn't want to be so difficult that Antonio lashed out. His slightly trembling hand reached out from the blankets, moving to Antonio's chiseled face. The man gave no reaction with Lovino's fingertips connected to his cheekbone, but he didn't demand anything else from him, so he figured it was alright. 

Lovino's fingers moved over Antonio's soft skin until he hit the stubble on the man's chin. He aimed to retrace his steps, but Antonio quickly moved, nibbling at Lovino's fingers. The Italian frowned, but the Spaniard smirked in amusement before he placed a kiss in Lovino's palm.

_ Why? Why must he do these things? How does he change from being demanding to endearing within the same damn minute? _

"Do you like being kissed,  _ mi tesoro _ ?" Antonio asked, and he continued to kiss at Lovino's hand, on the palm, on his knuckles, each finger. Lovino said nothing, made no face in response, only watched wearily. Antonio pressed kisses on the inside of his wrist, a place Lovino had never imagined would be so sensitive. And then Antonio took hold of Lovino's wrist, moving his arm upward so that he could continue to kiss down Lovino's inner forearm. 

Lovino wanted him to stop, wanted to be free of this trap he was in. He wished Antonio was as repulsive in his looks as he was in his personality, so that maybe his body would behave differently to him. The feeling of his slightly chapped lips and the stubble on his chin against the thin skin of his inner arm was making Lovino feel like the entire room was heating up. It wasn't fair that this man could do whatever he wanted without repercussions, or that Lovino's body reacted against his will. 

" _ Lovinito, _ " Antonio said against Lovino's skin, peering at him through dark lashes. "I know you are enjoying this."

"No."

"Don't lie. I don't need to check for the evidence myself, do I?"

"No," Lovino said again, quickly. "You're already playing an unfair game, do you have to embarrass me as well?"

Antonio shifted, laying more overtop Lovino once again, one hand stroking his face as the other propped him up. He kissed along Lovino's bicep, upward to his shoulder, ghosting his lips against the tanned skin there. Lovino felt himself shiver, and Antonio felt it as well, nearly grinning at the response. "You're so sensitive,  _ Lovinito _ . So responsive."

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true," Antonio hummed, and he began to suck lightly on Lovino's shoulder, nipping with his teeth every couple moments. Lovino frowned in response, wanting him to stop but being unwilling to make the man angry. 

He didn't want to react at all, but he had never been touched before in the way that Antonio insisted upon touching him. In fact, he'd thought he never would be. He had no time for relationships at home and was too busy worrying about his brother to concern himself with the idea of sexual pleasure. And now there was this man in his life who almost stalked him like prey, wanting to have his hands on Lovino at all times. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Antonio finally got tired of this position, it seemed, because he climbed over Lovino, directly over him now, leaving more love-bite bruises along Lovino's collarbones. Lovino squirmed beneath him but made no committal moves to push the man away, fearing his mood swings. "You should allow yourself to enjoy this, Lovi. I know you want to."

"Why would I want to enjoy this?"

"Because you find me attractive. Because it makes your body feel good. Because you like the attention," Antonio said, pulling back enough to look at Lovino in the eyes. "Be honest with yourself. What are you scared of? Losing your dignity?"

"I'm scared of  _ you _ , asshole."

"All the more reason to do as I say," Antonio affirmed, but he wore a triumphant smile, one Lovino only saw a glimpse of before the man connected their lips and simultaneously carded his fingers through Lovino's hair. He had a good grip on the locks as he moved his lips against Lovino's, and to Lovino's own shame, he moaned into Antonio's mouth the second that Antonio tugged at the right place on his scalp. 

_ "Eres hermoso Lovino, y sabes increíble,"  _ Antonio was saying against his lips, and Lovino knew what it all meant, without having to be fluent in Spanish. It spoke for itself. He felt his cheeks grow warmer at the words, ashamed at the effect the man could hold over him. "I want to taste all of you."

"Don't say that, it's embarrassing," Lovino protested. 

"I can say much dirtier things that will make you turn completely red,  _ tomatito _ . I will spare you tonight. I only want to have some fun with you."

Antonio kissed him again, delving his tongue into Lovino's mouth. It was a foreign feeling, odd and wet and warm and slippery, and Lovino was not a fan. But Antonio did not let up, only using his own hands to move Lovino's to his chest, signaling that he wanted the man to touch him. Antonio explored the inside of Lovino's mouth, making his head spin; he was unrelenting. 

"Touch me," Antonio demanded again, and Lovino instructed his own hands to move, circling over the man's shoulders so that his arms could wrap around his neck. Antonio lowered himself, nearly lying on top of the Italian, relishing in the warmth of his mouth. 

Antonio's arms encircled Lovino's waist, pulling him upward from the bed and flush against his body. Antonio made a sound of approval, and Lovino  _ knew _ his body was betraying him. He could feel it in his groin, in the tightness he felt in his underwear. It was humiliating, and any attention the Spaniard paid to it would force him to be ashamed. Lovino knew Antonio was hard-- could feel it against his thigh-- and didn't doubt that Antonio could feel his own arousal as well. 

The Spaniard began to kiss the sides of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. He was basically  _ doting _ upon Lovino, peppering him with adoring kisses. It was such a change in character that Lovino was taken off guard. Was the domineering King really this attentive of a lover? Lovino was curious, yet didn't want to find out fully. 

"You have such soft lips, Lovino. Soft skin, soft hair. What a shame that your personality does not match," the Spaniard was mumbling against Lovino's skin, pressing his body upon Lovino's, resulting in the connection of their lower-halves. Lovino tensed, trying to push away simultaneously. "You are so coarse. Loosen up,  _ bello _ ."

"I am who I am," Lovino said through clenched teeth. "Take it or leave it,  _ bastardo _ . You kidnapped  _ me _ , not my brother." He'd heard enough of the comparisons of his personality to his brothers his entire life that any comment on his moodiness felt like a personal insult. But when Antonio pulled back and looked at him in curiosity, Lovino realized his misstep and grew anxious. 

"Your brother? He is nicer than you?"

"No, I am not telling you shit about my brother."

"And he looks just like you,  _ no? _ Hmm… your face, with a much more pleasant personality..."

Normally, Lovino would be more cautious, but he held no hesitation in his tone when he said, "I'll kill you myself if you ever even  _ look _ at my brother."

"We've progressed from wishing death upon me, to promising it, eh? You truly never learn," Antonio hummed dismissively, and his actions did not match his threatening words. His hand trailed to Lovino's neck, where he pressed another kiss. "Why would I want your brother, when I can have you?"

Lovino felt himself freeze up. "What?"

"It wouldn't be any fun if you didn't put up a fight," explained the older man, and Lovino stared at the ceiling as his body was caressed, uncertain. "I sense you are jealous of him."

"Fuck you. Like hell I am."

"My  _ Lovinito _ . My attention is all yours."

"I don't want your attention. I want to be left alone, I want your hands removed of me," Lovino asserted, growing bold in his statements. He was annoyed by the entire conversation, by the entire situation. Of course, he wanted this to be over with. He wanted Antonio to get his kicks and then be finished. "I want to go to sleep."

Antonio looked at him seriously, eyes boring into Lovino's with such intensity that Lovino prepared himself for another smack across the face, but it never came. "I'll strike you a deal,  _ angelito _ . If you kiss me once  _ and  _ allow yourself to enjoy it, you shall sleep."

Lovino frowned, "How the hell would you know if I enjoy it or not?"

"Simple," Antonio grinned. "You will show me that you do."

Lovino sucked in a deep breath, frustration coursing through his veins. He wanted so badly to be left alone, and maybe engaging in just one kiss with Antonio wouldn't be so unbearable. He could do it, he figured, this one and only time. Resolving himself with stone-like courage, he said nothing before he reached out and took Antonio by the back of his neck. 

Lovino pulled the man down, connecting their lips, initiating a kiss for the first time. His eyes were glued shut, and he could nearly feel Antonio meld into him. They were so close that they were sharing the same breaths, the same rises and falls of their chests. Lovino kissed Antonio and imagined that the man was  _ anyone _ else, responding to the older man's lead for once. It was something he had never done in the times Antonio had forced himself onto him. And Antonio was drinking it up, gripping the Italian by the hips and holding him against his own body. 

Lovino was hard. Antonio felt it, had felt it long before that moment, but Antonio had done nothing about it yet that night. With a grip on Lovino's hips, he held them in place. And when he was able to distract Lovino by intruding his mouth with his tongue, Antonio ground his own hips into the man below him's. 

At this, Lovino's mouth fell open, some noise of either protest or pleasure leaving him, but it was ambiguous and Antonio celebrated it regardless. He grinned wickedly against Lovino's lips, the Italian's hands still holding his face. Before Lovino could take the opportunity to protest it all, Antonio captured his lips again, and to his surprise, Lovino continued to return the action. He moved his lips against Antonio's, and it was intoxicating, Antonio thought. 

Finally, after a moment, Antonio was the one to break away from Lovino, finding him red-faced, out of breath, and boasting swollen pink lips. Lovino, embarrassed, scowled at him and turned his face away. "Get off of me. I'm going to sleep."

Antonio actually obeyed this time. He rolled off of the Italian and laid beside him, watching as Lovino turned onto his side angrily, his back to Antonio. But the King only wrapped himself around Lovino's back, intertwining their legs beneath the blankets. 

"What are you doing?" quipped Lovino in a grumble. 

"I thought you were supposed to be going to sleep,  _ Romanito _ ."

"You are the worst."

**Rough Translations**

**joda -** fuck, pain in the ass  
 **le garçon -** the boy  
 **Impaciente** \- impatient  
 **bugiardo patetico** \- pathetic liar  
 **Dios mío, eres aún más exigente que una Mujer -** My god, you are even more demanding than a woman  
 **hermosito -** beautiful!  
 **Eres hermoso Lovino, y sabes increíble** \- you are beautiful/handsom Lovino, and taste incredible ;)


	6. The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! so happy to be back, please comment and let me know what you think about this chapter - I know it's been a long wait!! thanks for reading:)

The night was relatively uneventful following their final conversation. Every once in awhile, Lovino would groggily awaken, peeling his eyes open and seeing only the dark. He felt Antonio's grip on him from behind had not loosened, but he was aching to move, limbs stiff from remaining in the same position all night. He stretched out, aiming to turn onto his back, but Antonio merely rolled him onto his other side and pulled the boy to his chest. 

Lovino grumbled, finding his face buried in the man's cotton shirt. Antonio smelled like cinnamon spice and a fresh garden. Of course, Lovino was sure the man bathed in the finest oils and soaps daily. He was the King, after all. And if this palace were any indication, no expense was spared in surrounding himself in luxury. 

Lovino's people lived in near poverty in his village. The homeless lined the streets and many people went without clean water or substantial food. Lovino was lucky that his grandfather had provided some money for them, and that their business did well, but he witnessed people he cared about living in squalor. It was an epidemic, and he figured that Antonio knew nothing of it, or simply did not care. 

He didn't only despise Antonio for his demanding personality, homicidal threats, and general disregard for other people. The man came from a long line of ruling dictators, happy to ignore the needy within their sovereign. And here Lovino was, pressed against a man who had murdered others in battle and had threatened his _own_ life on multiple occasions. But he smelled of fresh pastries, and it was disarming. Lovino's head began to ache again. 

Antonio shifted now, and Lovino saw the way his lips were slightly parted in his sleep, face looking at peace and without any mischievous desires. His shoulder-length hair fell around his face, and his strong arms flexed around Lovino's upper body.  _ I hate this man and everything about him. How does someone like this even exist?  _

Hours later, the sun began to rise, and Lovino woke again. Antonio was up, moving around the room, and Lovino only pulled the blankets over his face in attempts to block out the light. He hadn't slept so well. The same servant from the night before entered, saying things to the King in a hushed tone, but Lovino was too busy trying to fall back asleep to care. 

"He will need something to keep him busy. I don't want him running around here, wreaking havoc," Antonio was saying to her, loud enough that Lovino frowned in disdain. Didn't the man know how to be quiet? "Go find Mateo, tell him that I want Señor Vargas to spend time in the outer gardens with Emma while I am gone. But he must be bathed before I returned; I don't want him smelling like dirt and worms."

Lovino rolled onto his other side, cocooning himself in the plush blankets. "You are so loud," he griped in a mumble, causing Antonio to look at him with a raised brow. The servant girl nervously accepted the task given to her before she curtsied to the older man and left. Antonio stalked around to Lovino's side of the bed, tugging on the blankets that the man was hiding beneath. 

"Are you going to sleep forever?"

"I'm not opposed to the idea."

He almost thought he heard Antonio chuckle, but it was too quiet to be sure. 

"I will be gone most of the day. You'll tend to the garden with my staff. Do whatever else you see fit, but behave."

Lovino finally pulled the blankets from his face, peering up at the man's bored expression. "Leaving? All day?"

"Don't look so excited,  _ angelito, _ you'll hurt my feelings."

The Italian scowled. "Well, can I sleep a little longer?"

"Sleep all day, if you wish," Antonio dismissed with a wave of his hand. He moved to locate a pair of boots for the day. "I couldn't care less."

Lovino relished being within the empty bed, alone, for a few more hours before he decided he was too hungry to remain. True to his word, Antonio had vanished, and Lovino made his way down the long and confusing corridors in the direction of the dining room. He wasn't sure what to do in this situation. If Antonio wasn't there, where did he eat? 

He found the kitchen before he found the dining room he typically ate in. State-of-the-art machinery, tens of servants, and fresh food filled the incredibly large room to the brim. Lovino stood awkwardly in the entryway, unsure of himself before someone stopped in their steps and looked at him. 

"You are Señor Vargas."

Lovino shrugged. "Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

Lovino noticed that more people had been keen enough to pick up on his presence, and soon, the majority of the people in the room were eyeing him, albeit continuing on with their work. 

"I… wasn't sure where I'm supposed to eat. I'm under the impression that I'll be working with a woman named Emma today--"

And then, a blonde woman with short hair and the typical uniform appeared from around a corner. "Señor Vargas! How are you today, sir? I hope you slept well."

And she was bowing a little before him, something that made Lovino panic. He waved his hands frantically. "No, no, no need for that. And no need to call me sir. I am the same as you!"

This woman, Emma, straightened up with a kind smile. “You are a guest here, no? Today I will be working in the outer gardens, harvesting some of the fruit trees.  _ El Majestad _ has requested that you follow me around if that is okay?”

“Well, I do as he says,” Lovino answered indifferently.

Another grin. “Come, we’ll have breakfast and then be on our way.”

Lovino liked Emma. She was easy enough to talk to and had a good sense of humor as well, not minding when he grumbled complaints about the King. As they walked beneath the sun through the vast landscape beyond the palace, baskets in hand, Lovino contemplated on whether or not she would be able to help him plan an escape. It felt wrong to ask, almost. To take advantage of her kindness. But she seemed to be his only option within the walls.

The outer gardens were beautiful. They consisted of trees, vineyards, and rows of vegetable crops all perfectly cultivated. Mountains could be seen in the distance, and although it wasn’t yet hot outside, Lovino could imagine a perfect summer day on this land. He followed Emma’s example by plucking the different fruits from their trees, placing them in his large basket before moving on to the next. 

“Are you enjoying your stay here?”

Lovino looked over at her, stuck on one particularly stubborn peach. Birds chirped in the distance. “My stay? I think you may have confused the circumstances of my being here.”

Emma only looked at him, waiting for an explanation. 

“I’m here against my will. If I attempt to leave, I will be killed. Your King is _not_ a hospitable host.”

“ _Your_ King, as well, is he not?” Emma said in reply. Lovino shrugged. “Why would the King want to keep you here?”

“He’s obsessed with me, somehow.” 

A blank look. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

And Lovino was afraid that he couldn’t say more. He went quiet, picking the last of the peaches from the tree he was working on before he climbed down the stepping ladder. 

“I would like to leave this place. It is beautiful, and the people are kind, but I have a family back home.”

“I see,” Emma said, following suit as she descended from her ladder. “A wife and children.”

“No,” Lovino wiped the sweat from his brow. “A brother.”

Then, Emma placed a small, gentle hand on his arm. “ _ Haal het beste uit een slechte situatie,  _ something my Dutch grandfather used to say.  _ Make the best of a bad situation. _ I may not understand your circumstances, and I may not have much useful advice for navigating our  _ Majestad,  _ but I am confident that you will find your way.”

“Do you know a way to escape?” Lovino asked quickly, not meaning to interrupt, but eager to get his question out before she walked away. 

Emma only looked at him sadly. 

“ _ Amigo,  _ I will not help you do that, because I would not want to see you dead.”

Lovino snagged a basket-full of tomatoes before their time was done. They spent hours outside, talking about this or that. He’s been keen enough to not bring up the subject of his resentment toward Antonio any further, nor any plans to leave the palace. Other people were working in the gardens, plowing and planting and pulling, but Lovino paid them little mind. He was frustrated, antsy, and in need of a bath.

That request was granted upon his arrival back inside. Mateo whisked him off to the bathhouse, instructing the boy to be quick because the King expected him for dinner. Lovino did as told, emerging cleaner and better smelling than before. And then he was thrown some clothes to wear before they left for the dining room.

Antonio looked stressed. Lovino noticed as soon as he entered the large room that the look on the man’s face was far less playful and mischievous than he normally saw it. Lovino said nothing as he made his way to his seat, Antonio not even glancing at him. 

“You’re late.”

Lovino paused, halfway in his seat. Settling in, he replied, “I bathed.”

“So you did,” was the unenthusiastic reply he received. Antonio was carving into a piece of meat on his plate, not sparing Lovino so much as a glance. A plate was brought before the Italian, and he eyed it carefully. “I hope you enjoyed your day traipsing in the sun.”

A frown. “I did, actually. Thank you for your sarcasm.”

Antonio set his fork down, took a drink of water, and finally looked at the boy who had been staring at him this entire time. “Tonight, I’ll be going to bed early. Naturally, you will too.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Lovino slumped in his seat, annoyed. Antonio knew what he was asking. 

“Not for sex,” the Spaniard drawled, his own annoyance peaking. “I have to rest.”

Lovino looked wearily at him. 

They continued to eat in silence. When Antonio was finished, he pushed his chair from the table and went to stand. Lovino thought nothing of it until Mateo nearly came rushing into the room, attending to the man’s side. Confused, Lovino stared, unable to conceive why the man had been so nervous tonight. But then Antonio stood, a stark look of pain on his features, and had to steady himself on the table just to do so.

A pool of red had soaked through his white chemise at his right side, and Lovino’s eyes widened like dinner plates. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“Ah,” Antonio remarked. “As it happens, Mateo, I’ll be needing a new shirt.” 

Mateo barked orders in the direction of the door in Spanish, calling in three young servants, one of whom had medical supplies in a kit. Antonio said nothing else, only standing uncomfortably in his spot. 

But Lovino was still in shock, watching as Antonio continued to bleed through the fabric. Antonio’s eyes met his again and dared to offer a stupid smile. “It’s a good thing you sleep on my left side, no?” 

The Italian cursed.  _ What an idiot, doesn’t he know he is at risk of passing out? _ So Lovino stood from his chair as well, moving to where Antonio stood, now being fussed over by the servants Mateo had called in. “You need to lie down, Antonio. You need pressure, stitches even— _Cristo,_ how did this even happen?”

His concern was waved off by the dismissive Spaniard. “It’s just an old battle wound. Opens up every now and again. Today, it was because of a particularly energetic round of fencing, with Francis, on horseback.”

“You truly are an idiot,” Lovino said simply, not particularly caring who heard before taking over the wrap from one of the servants and continuing the job himself. 

Antonio found himself in his bed, fresh bandaging on his wound, having been done by the nimble and annoyed hands of the Italian beside him. They had transported here at Mateo’s request, and now, Lovino was applying pressure to his side, making Antonio wince every once in a while.

“You’ll need stitches in the morning.”

“Doctor has already been called for,  _ angelito _ .” 

Lovino had seen the scar, the one Antonio had reopened. He hadn’t realized it had been so fresh, and prone to dehiscence. Lovino knew only a little about medicine, what had been passed down from his grandfather, but it was coming in useful in this situation. 

“Look at you,” Antonio mused, lying on his back as he craned his neck. “Doting on me. Only a day ago you wished for me to die, and now you are trying to save me from it.”

“You’re not going to die,  _ bastardo _ , and if I didn’t do this I might be tried for treason.”

Antonio shrugged. “Maybe you could just kiss it better.” 

Lovino pressed a little too roughly on the wound in response, and when Antonio winced, he said, "Oops."

"So cruel," the older man said, head plopping back on his pillow. "Did you enjoy your little field trip out to the gardens?"

"If I say yes, will that make you shut up?"

"So you did, after all," Antonio grinned. "Tomorrow we'll be going swimming. Francis and Gilbert will be joining us, so you'll behave,  _ no _ ?"

"Who is Gilbert?" asked Lovino with a frown. Swimming? Didn't this man have anything important to do, like run the Kingdom?

"A friend of mine. You haven't met him yet."

"These men, they're just normal citizens of the Kingdom? Francis sounded foreign to me."

"He is,  _ mi amorito _ . Francis is King of France."

Lovino said nothing, eyes widening slightly. He had pranced around a ballroom with the King of France and hadn't even greeted him properly? "And Gilbert?"

"King of Prussia."

"You know a lot of Kings..." Lovino mumbled. "Don't they have jobs to do? I know you don't do much but..."

"Watch your tone," Antonio piped, displeased with Lovino's comment. "I meet with the financial advisors, the policy advisors, I host the parties and maintain foreign relations. I make public appearances and control our military operations. I do everything a King is supposed to do, Lovinito, and you'd do well to respect me more."

Lovino looked at him, holding his firm gaze without a word. 

"Francis and Gilbert are visiting for this week and the next. In the summer we will visit Francis; in the Fall, Gilbert.  And tomorrow, we will swim. Questions?"

Lovino deflated. He couldn't help it. The idea of living with Antonio for weeks, months, years even-- it made him want to be sick. Would he ever see his brother again? He supposed if he complied with Antonio's will and did as he asked for a while, the man might allow his brother to visit. It didn't sound so bad in theory, but when it came down to the act of bending to Antonio's desires, it was much more difficult in practice. 

The Spaniard seemed amicable in times like this. It was disarming and could make Lovino put his guard down within him even noticing. And then Lovino would slip up, speak his true mind, and Antonio's flip would switch without warning. Lovino was not a passive personality, it was against his nature to comply with injustice, against himself or others. He was honest, if nothing else, and never lied about his feelings on a topic. 

Antonio appreciated that about the younger man. He lived a life surrounded by people who told him what he wanted to hear and had lived that way from birth. The only people in his life who might tell him the honest truth were Francis and Gilbert, who hardly cared about his sensitive feelings, and now Lovino, a brutally genuine man with a moody temperament. He wasn't blind. He knew Lovino didn't want to be at the palace, didn't want to do the things that Antonio required of him. But with every small accomplishment against the boy, Antonio's confidence in his ability to break down those walls soared. 

Lovino was trailing off in his own thoughts, it seemed, eyes dazed out as he stared into the distance. His hand was still pressed into the bandaging on Antonio's side, although there was no need at this point. Antonio wasn't going to stop him even if it  _ was _ slightly uncomfortable. Lovino touching him on his own free will was rare. Antonio only watched him, the way Lovino's dark eyebrows were knitted together in thought, his hazel eyes glossy as he focused on nothing in particular, mouth slightly downturned as was normal in his neutral face. Then, Lovino seemed to notice, because his trance of thought broke and he looked at Antonio in distaste. "What are you looking at?"

Antonio, be as it may, could not sleep on his back. Or, so he argued with Lovino, who finally conceded unhappily that the man would sleep on his left side for the entire night, subsequently closer and wrapped around Lovino like a damn snake. Lovino was beneath the blankets, at least, and Antonio on top, complaining that it was too hot.  _ If only the people of Spain knew that their fearless leader is actually a giant fucking child. _

"I'm trying to sleep, asshole," Lovino griped as he felt Antonio nuzzle his face into the back of his neck. The man seemed not to care, basically inhaling the Italian's scent, causing the boy to squirm beside him. "Get off, how can you basically get stabbed and still be in the mood to fuck!"

He had meant it entirely seriously, but Antonio must've found it funny. He began to chuckle from behind Lovino, the breath from his laughs falling onto Lovino's neck. 

"Not stabbed,  _ Lovi _ , I'm not that weak," the man said with almost a pout in his tone, and Lovino let out a huff. "You are just too cute, I want to eat you."

"You are despicable."

_ "Bésame, antes de decir algo por lo que tengo que enojarme,"  _ Antonio was saying behind him, and although Lovino didn't know a damn thing past the first word, he understood that one perfectly.  _ "Bésame, _ Lovino,  _ ahora." _

Lovino had no choice, he knew, and even if Antonio hadn't reached around to take a hold of his chin, he wouldn't have been able to protest the man's request regardless. This was Lovino's life now, he figured, doing whatever Antonio asked even if he did try to put up a fight. The man hadn't pushed his boundaries  _ too _ far just yet, but to Lovino,  _ anything _ besides a simple handshake was far too intimate. 

Lovino felt the man's lips on his but did not see his face come near, having had his eyes shut from the moment the man touched him beneath the chin. Antonio kissed him, Lovino only turned to him by the upper body, but Antonio said nothing and tried nothing else. Lovino waited for it; a wandering hand, an obscene term, but it never came. Antonio's lips moved slowly against Lovino's own, even gently, but Lovino was not one to coin anything the man did as gentle. 

He was tired, it seemed, and smelled of the same cinnamon spice scent that he always did. Lovino could feel the stubble on his chin, and eventually, Antonio was tugging on him, urging him to turn over and face him. Lovino did as he wanted, turning toward the man and continuing to have his personal space intruded upon. 

Lovino was pressed against him, flush, and had to be extremely careful to avoid touching the older man's wound, although he would've if he thought it would've made Antonio stop his persistent touching. Antonio's finger trailed, back and forth, over Lovino's jaw as they kissed, nearly stroking the younger man's face. He was surprised to find that, after the first few moments, Lovino had slowly begun to kiss him back, and that he appeared to do so without any protest was rare. Antonio wasn't sure if it had happened before at all. 

After a while of this, Lovino felt Antonio's lips began to slow, and the kisses elongated, leaving Lovino puzzled. This wasn't the way that Antonio kissed. One of Lovino's eyes opened, and inches from his own face was Antonio's, the tan skin and dark stubble even more noticeable from this close. But what Lovino noticed first was the fact that Antonio had fallen asleep, lips still against his, and he let out a breath in disbelief. 

_ This man. _

When Antonio woke in the morning, he was the first to awake. Lovino was fast asleep at his side, head tucked under Antonio's arm, and at some point, Antonio had rolled onto his back. He had no early meetings today, nothing on the agenda until later, and therefore took a moment just to lie in silence, in the sunny room with Lovino snoring softly at his side. 

He hadn't expected things to progress like this. Francis had been right, it seemed. Doing even the smallest things that made Lovino happy resulted in a much better attitude from the boy, almost 100% of the time. Antonio hated admitting when the stupid Frenchman was right, but even he couldn't deny the successes of some of the man's ideas. 

Lovino was a distant cousin of Antonio's, not directly, but it didn't matter within the royalty. A cousin was a cousin, no matter how distant. And at first, after Mateo and his advisors had learned of a royal living in near-impoverishment, it had been an act of civil duty for them to bring Lovino here. The original plan had only been to give the Vargas twins enough funds to live on for the rest of their lives, but after Antonio had heard of Lovino's handsome looks and how they'd been so close as children, he wanted to meet the man himself. He hadn't planned on keeping Lovino forever, but now he never wanted to give him up. Attitude and all, the Italian was far more entertaining than any of the personality-void women Antonio had access to.

Turning to look at the chestnut-hair man beside him, Antonio snorted.  _ Yes, interesting is an understatement. _

But his moment of tranquility was ruined upon the realization that his right side was growing both warm and damp. Peering down, Antonio saw the red blood beginning to seep through the cloth around his middle.  _ Mierda, no puedo atrapar suerte. _

He was sure that nobody was outside his door at this hour, as his nightly guard stood down the hallway in order to prevent unwelcome visitors through the night. His  _ mucama _ wouldn't be coming for an hour, maybe two. Pursing his lips, Antonio used his left arm to gently prod at Lovino's sleeping form. 

"Lovinito,  _ despierta, mi cariño _ .  _ Necesito tu ayuda. _ " _Wake up, darling, I need your help._

"With what?" the sleeping figure beside him groggily muttered, eyes squeezing more tightly shut.  _ Ah, so he does speak more Spanish than he lets on. _

"The blood," Antonio said with a frown, nearly whining.  _ "Mis vendas, por supuesto." _

With a look of disdain, Lovino slowly began to prop himself up onto his elbows, lying on his front as he rubbed at his eyes. "Your _what_? Speak English, Italian, anything but that ugly language."

"Watch it," Antonio griped, looking down at his side once again. "I don't know why this keeps happening..."

" _ What _ keeps hap-- Antonio!" Lovino's eyes had focused finally on the bandages, drenching with red. He pushed the blankets away from his body, revealing his sleep chemise and tan legs. "You are truly insufferable. You should've woken me with a  _ little _ more urgency!"

"You looked so tired," Antonio replied, indifferent. 

Lovino said nothing else as he made his way to the door, leaving it open behind him as he disappeared quickly into the hall. Antonio's head fell back onto his pillow with a sigh. 

Lovino was kneeling beside the bed after being gone for ten or so minutes, applying more bandages to Antonio's side and putting pressure on the wound. The doctor had been near the palace and messengers were sent to fetch him more quickly. He arrived within the half-hour, and although Antonio was feeling slightly prone to… sleep, he didn't mention it. 

"Stitches do not hurt any less, no matter how many times you get them," Antonio was grumbling to Lovino, to which the Italian snorted. "You'll distract me, won't you?"

"What? The King of Spain needs to be distracted while the doctor visits? A joke!"

Antonio's eyes met Lovino's, a frown on his face. "I could kill you with my bare hands,  _ angelito _ ."

_ "Gesù Cristo, sei insopportabile..." _ Lovino muttered, shifting his eyes to the wound he was nursing. 

Antonio looked back to the ceiling. "No, I don't need you to hold my hand. But, if I want you to, you will, you'll do anything I ask. And I can think of plenty of ways for you to distract me."

Lovino stayed quiet. After some time, the doctor arrived, looking weary from the trip but eager to begin. The Italian stepped away, allowing the man access to Antonio's side, but then met with the maid in order to get a towel to place beneath the man, so that the bedding wouldn't be ruined. Antonio said nothing to him as he put the towel in place, only shifting so that he could. And then Lovino stood to the side, unsure of what to do with himself, watching as the doctor pulled out some tools from his bag. 

"I'll be stitching your wound closed again,  _ El Majestad _ , with thicker threading and double stitching in order to secure it more stably. I will advise that, if possible, you do not leave bed for anything other than the restroom for the next couple of days. Following then, you will not do any strenuous activity for the next two weeks, and following  _ then _ , you will avoid all activity involving direct contact to the wound for the next month. Your wound should be closed by then, and we should be able to remove the sutures, my King."

Lovino listened carefully to the doctor's rules, which Antonio seemed displeased with. He waved his hand in dismissal of the man's words, then said, "Lovino. Go eat breakfast."

"What?" asked the Italian, confused. 

"Breakfast. I'm sure you're hungry. No reason why you should stand there and watch me be sewn back together."

Lovino said nothing else, hesitating slightly before he slipped out of the room. 

He ate breakfast with Emma and a few other servants, although he didn't know their exact jobs. They seemed weary around him; he dressed like a royal, slept with the King, and had no job on the grounds. Why wouldn't they feel uncomfortable eating breakfast with him? Lovino remained quiet for the majority of the meal, mind elsewhere. He wondered how the stitching was going in Antonio's room, wondered when his next letter from his brother would come. Wondered when, if ever, he would see Feliciano ago. Wondered if Antonio would be stupid enough to keep his swimming plans for the day. 

"Thank you for breakfast, Emma," Lovino said as he pushed his chair from the table. "It was delicious."

"Of course! By the way, how is the King?"

Lovino hesitated again, hand on his plate. "Um, well. Fine, I suppose, but he commanded me to leave before anything serious began."

Emma nodded somberly, and the other male servants at the table began to collect their dishes as well. "Well, I pray for his speedy recovery."

"Right," Lovino answered, noncommittal. 

Back in Antonio's room, Lovino stood at the end of the bed, wincing every time the doctor put the thick needle through the man's skin. Blood dripped down the towel, but the wound was being tightly closed, and Antonio merely winced at every pinch of the needle. 

"I told you not to watch. You look like you might vomit."

"I'm fine," Lovino defended. "It's your pain, not mine."

The eyes of the doctor flickered curiously to Lovino before he refocused on his work. Antonio sent him a warning glare, and Lovino demanded himself to shut up. 

"Come here," Antonio said, holding out his left hand. Cautiously, Lovino placed himself on the bed, crawling until he was at the man's unharmed side. Antonio placed a hand on his thigh as he sat, watching the doctor work in silence.  _ Surely this man is wondering what the King of Spain is doing with a man in his bed.  _ But, Lovino knew as well as the doctor himself did that it was not his place to say a word. 

"What do you think, Lovino? Is it hot enough outside to swim?"

"To swim? Anto-- Er,  _ Majestad _ , you can't possibly want to swim after this."

"I do want to, and so we will. We have wool; I will wrap my stomach in that. I'll just sit on the edge of the pond if I must."

Lovino looked at the doctor, who seemed unhappy, but remained silent. "...Yes, I suppose it's hot enough outside to swim."

A squeeze on his thigh. Lovino sighed. It was going to be a long day. 

Antonio had his side wrapped accordingly, hiding the big, black sutures in his skin, and he slowly made his way down the corridors of the palace. Lovino was at his heels, protesting as always, but Antonio paid him no mind. 

"You'd be foolish to get in that water, Antonio," Lovino was saying behind him, but his tone was hushed, knowing that mouthing off where others could hear him would be a mistake. "You had your side stitched back together  _ hours _ ago!"

"Then I will not get in the water," Antonio mused, indifferent. Lovino grumbled something under his breath, but Antonio picked up on the  _ 'uomo stupido...' _ and cracked a grin. 

The pond was man-made, of course, a perfect circle surrounded by carefully cultivated plants and flowers, some so exotic that Lovino had no clue what they were. He followed Antonio outside, through the large, Spanish archways of the back courtyard, passing by busy servants and conversing nobles. They all paused their work to greet the King, of course, and only gave Lovino a curious passing glance before they moved on. 

Antonio had arranged them both to have a pair of linen breech-style pants that were thin and would dry quickly. Atop this, they wore knee-length cotton chemises, and although Lovino's was not as well-made as the King's, he didn't appreciate walking around dressed exactly like the man, looking like a little miniature version of him. 

They were also followed by a servant girl who held a tray with pitchers of liquid, some kind of drink that had been prepared, and fresh towels. Lovino had asked her to carry out some of the bandages as well, just in case Antonio decided to be an idiot. The three of them made their way down the stone pathway leading to the grand pond, having been beaten there by Francis and Gilbert. 

Before they entered the pond's embankment, Antonio wrapped a hand around Lovino's upper arm and stopped them both. He nodded for the girl behind them to continue on. Lovino looked at him in question, but Antonio only looked harshly at him in return. 

"Listen to me,  _ por un momento. _ You will not embarrass me in front of my friends,  _ si? _ You will not get smart, or refuse my advances, or even disagree with a thing I say."

Lovino stared at him, frowning slightly. 

Antonio dropped his grip on Lovino's arm. "You understand.  _ Vamonos." _

"Nice of you to join us,  _ mon ami _ ," Francis said upon Antonio's arrival, a grin on his face. Antonio slapped him hard on the back, a little too hard, but it wasn't an accident. 

"You,  _ hijo de puta, _ ripped my damn side open and I was busy getting sewn back together. I apologize for the  _ inconvenience _ ."

Francis was barking with laughter at this, but the pale man beside him was staring directly at Lovino. Antonio turned his attention to the Prussian, pulling him into a hug, greeting him, and acknowledging how long it had been since they'd seen each other. Gilbert returned the favor, and then his eyes were back on Lovino. "And who, Antonio, is this?"

Antonio glanced back at Lovino, who was standing with the same frown that he'd been wearing since his private conversation with Antonio. 

"This is Lovino, he is a cousin of mine," Antonio said in reply, placing a hand on Lovino's upper back. Lovino wanted to believe that Antonio wouldn't be so bold so as to be intimate with him in the presence of these men, but he knew better. He had no issues with chasing Lovino around the ballroom or dancing with him at the ball. And these men were his friends, and Antonio didn't care what anyone thought. 

"Lovino Vargas," the Italian said, and then remembered that these scantily-dressed men were Kings of their own right. So he bowed a little, ignoring Antonio's chuckle. "...Gentlemen."

"No need,  _ chéri, _ a friend of Toni's is a friend of ours," the Frenchman was saying as Lovino straightened up. He wouldn't have considered himself to be a friend of 'Toni'. "Gilbert, Lovino is living here with Toni, but before that, he was a commoner!"

"I am still a commoner," Lovino said quickly, but without attitude. Antonio's gaze flickered to him, hand still on his back. 

Francis was quiet now, and Gilbert continued to look at him in interest. The man was pale, as was his hair, and his eyes were a vibrant color that Lovino couldn't place. "You are the family of Toni,  _ ni _ ? So you are noble,  _ majs friend." _

Antonio seemed disinterested in the conversation now, turning from them and tossing his chemise from his body. Lovino watched him, unsure of what to do. But when Antonio looked back to him and gave a jerk of his head, Lovino sighed, following suit as he removed his outer clothing. He had not been naked, or anything close, before anyone except his immediate family and Antonio, and felt awkward given the circumstances. 

Antonio's stomach was wrapped tightly, and his movements were fairly staggered as he couldn't move at the waist as normal. Francis pulled Gilbert into a different conversation, one that was beyond Lovino. Antonio sat at the edge of the embankment, on the stone parameter, and his guests went straight for the water. 

Lovino sat beside him, putting his own feet in the water. It was warm, and the sun was bright, and Antonio looked adrift in his thoughts. His hair was pulled back today, a few strands framing his face, but he didn't seem as boisterous as he normally behaved. 

"Get in the water," he said to Lovino, nudging the boy slightly. Lovino shook his head, moving his feet within the pond. "It's warm, who knows if we'll have another warm day?"

"This is Southern Spain," Lovino said simply. "Of course we will."

After a few more moments, the blazing sun became too much to stand, and Lovino dropped himself into the water. He sank beneath the surface, exhaling through his nose, marveling in the crystal clear water of the manmade pond. He felt weightless, and the serenity of the silence nearly made it possible for him to forget the reality around him. This atmosphere, Antonio’s gentle demeanor, the beautiful landscape… it all created a facade, a lie that Lovino was willing himself not to feel comfortable within. 

Antonio was not to be trusted, no matter which personality he presented. 

Lovino surfaced, water running from his hair down his face, and his eyes met those of Antonio. The man remained in his spot, skin glistening slightly with sweat, hair pulled back from his face. The expression he held was stone-like, as though he’d read every one of Lovino’s thoughts on paper. Lovino looked away. He didn’t have the resolve to withstand the scrutiny of the man now. 

Francis was looking at him as well from across the pool of water, his own blonde hair slicked back from his face. Lovino scowled. That man was a pervert, he knew; it was clear by the seedy expression the man always wore. And that Gilbert person was no better, wearing a consistent mischievous grin that made it easy to see how he and Antonio could be friends. 

“Tell me,  _ petite Sirène _ , how is life in the palace of the King of Moods?” Francis was asking him, accepting a cold drink presented to him by one of Antonio’s servants. Lovino’s eyes trailed after the girl before they met the Frenchman’s again. 

“Splendid,” the Italian answered through a frown. “Couldn’t be better.”

Francis let out a bark of a laugh, countering, “Oh,  _ mon chérè,  _ perhaps I could borrow you for a week and prove that statement wrong.”

Antonio scoffed from behind Lovino, but Lovino didn’t turn to cast him a glance. “In your dreams, you dirty old man,” answered Antonio in a bored tone of voice.

“You are no better than I, _mon_ _ami_.”

“Antonio never did take well to sharing,” Gilbert pitched in from his spot on the edge of the embankment. “Who would want to deal with a disobedient plaything, anyway?”

“I am not _disobedient_ ,” Lovino griped, turning his head quickly in rejection of the statement. He  _ was _ disobedient, and purposely, but he didn’t enjoy being badmouthed in front of his face. “What would you know?”

He felt water splash against his back and turned to see Antonio with a disapproving frown on his face. “Be respectful,” the man said, and Lovino simply sunk back under the water. 

He didn’t like being scolded, not in front of other people. Well, not at _all_ , but if Antonio  _ really _ wanted to piss him off, all it would take was one demeaning scolding in front of others, and Lovino was worried that the more time that they spent in the presence was other just meant more opportunities for such an occasion to occur. Antonio didn’t feel much differently; it was like a ticking time-bomb. He didn’t understand why Lovino couldn’t just  _ behave _ — Hadn’t his life  _ improved _ since he’d been brought under Antonio’s care? 

Perhaps care wasn’t the correct word. As he stared down at Lovino’s distorted figure swimming beneath the water, Antonio let out a huff. He had to be stern with the boy. If Lovino disrespected him before the people of his sovereign, it would reflect incredibly poorly upon Antonio’s image, which was already at risk because of his young age and lack of experience. In private, Lovino could be as feisty as he desired, so long as certain lines were not crossed. And the Italian was learning, getting better at realizing where the lines were drawn, even if he’d never admit that it was happening. Antonio wanted to reward him for his good behavior, but his bad behavior far outweighed the good. 

It was going to be a long day, he felt. 

Lovino’s head bobbed up again, but he was unwilling to engage with any of them, keeping his back to the men as he waded in the water. Gilbert entered the water after a few more minutes, engaging Francis in a conversation about his country’s economic situation. Antonio felt like the sun might kill him if he sat there all day, so against anyone’s better judgment, he pushed himself off the stone embankment and entered the water as well. If Lovino was planning on ignoring him for the remainder of the day, he’d given up on that sentiment now, eyes nearly popping out of his head at the realizing that Antonio had gone directly against the doctor’s orders. 

_ “Sei pazzo, idiota?” _ demanded Lovino as soon as Antonio resurfaced. He bolted over to the Spaniard, hand raised to smack him upside the head before he realized he still had an audience and let it drop back into the water. “No swimming, those were the terms that you agreed to. If your stitches come undone because you don’t listen,  _ non piangere al riguardo _ !”

Antonio only hummed in response, taking a protesting Lovino into his arms. He made it seem as though he were embracing him as he brought his mouth to the Italian’s ear. “I will let that one slide,  _ mi amorito,  _ because I know you are concerned for my health. But if you call me insulting names in public again, I will not let it go unpunished.”

Lovino went slightly more limp in his arms, but his hands remained firm against Antonio’s chest. “Yes,  _ El Diablo _ ,” he hissed through his teeth. 

Antonio released him. He joined in his friends’ conversation regarding economic policies, though it quickly turned into a session of gossip regarding the insolence of their economic advisors. Lovino was bored, annoyed, and unhappy with the present situation. When Emma emerged from the long pathway leading to the palace, basket in hand and wearing her apron, Lovino sprung out of the pond, eager to greet her. 

Francis’ eyes trailed after him, grinning in amusement. “Well, Antonio, seems you may have competition. Your little  _ amant toscan _ has taken to one of your maids.”

Antonio stopped mid-sentence, looking to where Lovino stood, dripping water and glimmering beneath the sun. His white trousers clung to his legs, nearly see-through at this point. He seemed to not have noticed, but the girl had. Emma was blushing profusely, listening to whatever Lovino was saying to her. 

_ He just can’t help but make me angry, can he? _

After another couple hours of lounging in the pond, drinking beer and conversing about this or that, Antonio called the swimming session finished. He was given a fresh towel and made careful not to disturb the injury of his side, but knew that it would need rewrapping, as the bandages were soaked. Lovino was silent beside him, toweling himself off before slipping back into his cotton chemise. Antonio followed suit, leading the hike back to the palace, with Lovino at a careful distance behind. Antonio had not forgotten about his little display in front of the maid girl, nor his insistence on being unpleasant during the entire excursion. He was growing angrier with every glance he made at Lovino, seeing that same childish frown each time he looked. 

It didn’t help that Antonio had had plenty to drink, which only managed to fuel his anger. He clenched and unclenched his fist, waiting for it to subside, but even the stupid sound of Lovino’s bare feet hitting the stone as the walked made him livid to the core.  _ Who does this little harlot think he is, running around courting my maids and turning my advances to Hell? Calling me the devil to my face, an idiot to my friends’? _

They entered through the same French doors that they had exited through. Antonio sauntered through the parlor and into the main hall, every intention of going straight to his bedroom to have his bandages changed. Every intention of scolding Lovino in private. But Lovino was on a roll today, and Antonio should have known that the boy could never allow anything to be easy. 

“I want to eat,” Lovino nearly demanded from behind him as they walked. Servants and staff alike passed the two of them through the hall, casting glances. 

“So go eat,” Antonio bit, wanting none of this. 

“Your friends are rude to me,” Lovino began again, egging Antonio on. The man stopped in his tracks, turning to eye Lovino carefully. He was warning the boy to stop with his gaze alone, but Lovino was far too stubborn for that. “They talk to me like I’m a whore.”

Antonio smiled dryly. “When you act like one, how can you expect any other treatment?”

Lovino was taken aback, having stopped walking himself. He looked offended, as though he had any right to. Antonio held a deadly, cautionary expression, but they had many eyes on them now, regardless. Lovino had just been accused of acting like a slut in front of every staff member in this room, when _he_ was the one being held under Antonio’s rule by force. He held Antonio’s cold gaze relentlessly, feeling his own blood boil now. 

“How dare you...?” He asked, voice low, but not low enough for it to be missed by those standing near. “You are the reason I’m here!”

Antonio stepped forward swiftly. He looked lethal. Lovino nearly stepped back in fear, but refused. “You’re right, I am. Because I am your King, and I control your life. Just like every other person within these walls, within these borders.”

“But I—“

“You would be wise to cease your insufferable talking, and maybe I will show mercy when I punish you tonight,” Antonio growled, and Lovino quickly turned away, moving to leave the room and the scrutiny of the eyes within. He refused to meet any of the tens of people who watched him. But he was yanked back to his spot in one harsh pull, the hand on his arm gripping him tightly enough to bruise. Lovino let out a surprised noise of protest, but Antonio couldn’t have cared less. He was nearly seeing red with the anger the flooded his senses. “I do not remember dismissing you.”

Lovino yanked his arm to no avail. He ground his teeth together, ordering, “Let go of me.”

Antonio hit him firmly across the face, a breath of frustration leaving him as soon as his hand made contact. With the sound of his hand hitting Lovino's skin, it was as though every person in the room hitched their breath and held it in silence. He was tired of doing this, marking Lovino’s skin in response to the boy’s refusal to behave. What else was he to do? Allow him to disobey the King before his own staff? It could never happen. 

Lovino would have fallen, had Antonio not had him by the upper arm. “Remember this the next time you decide to advance upon my servants, putting your body on display for their eyes,” Antonio hissed into Lovino’s ear. The boy had his head turned down, hair hanging over his eyes. He didn’t wish to be seen by the people that eerily filled the room. “Go, disappear. I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rough translations ---
> 
> Bésame, antes de decir algo por lo que tengo que enojarme - kiss me, before you say something that i have to get mad at  
> Bésame, Lovino, ahora - Kiss me, Lovino, now  
> Mierda, no puedo atrapar suerte - shit, I can't catch luck/a break  
> mucama - maid  
> despierta, mi cariño. Necesito tu ayuda - wake up, darling/honey, i need your help  
> Mis vendas, por supuesto - my bandages, of course  
> Gesù Cristo, sei insopportabile - Jesus Christ, you are unbearable   
> uomo stupido - stupid man  
> ni, majs friend - (based off of old Prussian translation) no, my friend  
> petite Sirène - little siren  
> Sei pazzo, idiota - you're crazy, idiot  
> non piangere al riguardo! - don't cry about it!  
> amant toscan - tuscan lover ;)


	7. The Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so happy to be back:) please enjoy and leave me a comment with your thoughts!! thanks for reading!

Lovino sat at the grand dining table alone, a plate of now-cold food before him. It had been prepared by Emma after he’d planted himself in this chair, having run off from the main hall. He’d allowed the tears to drip into his lap as long as he was in isolation. Antonio was despicable, evil, truly an insufferable man. There was no possible way that a man like him could be reasoned with, or could change his sadistic ways. It wasn’t normal for a person to be so self-obsessed. He was doted upon and given every possible thing he wanted, but Lovino was not a  _ thing _ . He would not bow to the King of Spain’s will, no matter what Antonio dished out. 

If the man wanted a compliant doll to bend and to shape, Antonio should sooner go capture a noble’s daughter. 

Lovino took a few bites of his food before he pushed it away from himself, unable to ingest anything more. He felt sick to his stomach, and would likely vomit everything up before the night was through, anyway. He was feeling exceptionally defiant, despite the embarrassment he’d endured in the main hall. With every look that the staff gave him, he felt his skin crawl. Antonio did not have to be so cruel so as to damage the only thing Lovino had left, his pride and his dignity. And yet he had done it anyway. 

He went to his room. His  _ old _ room, the one he’d first been assigned. His things were still there, his old clothing and his stationary materials. He wouldn’t be returning to Antonio’s presence unless he was plucked from his bed and forced to, but it seemed as though Antonio had no desire to see him either. Indeed, the night passed without word from anyone. Lovino laid in bed, listening to the sounds of the carriages and horses outside. Neither Mateo nor Antonio nor anyone else came to disturb him, and Lovino eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep. 

He was awoken by incessant banging at his door. Lovino nearly jumped out of his skin, the noise loud and intruding. But he quickly realized that it was only Antonio, and he was in his own bed, and the door was locked. He settled, heart still beating quickly as he answered, “For God’s sake, what?”

Antonio, on the other side of the door, shifted his jaw. “Come out here, now.”

“Why?” He heard Lovino bark from inside the room. “So you can hit me some more?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, give me strength,” the Spaniard mumbled under his breath, feeling a sharp pain in his temple. “Do as I say, Lovino, and I will not _have_ to hit you.”

The door swung open. Lovino looked livid but said nothing, simply breezing past Antonio and toward the grand stairwell. Antonio followed reluctantly, deciding to pick his battles. As long as nobody else was around, he couldn’t hold a responsibility to punishing the boy. 

“You’ll eat, shower, and be dressed. After that, you’ll come to the courtyard, and you won’t bitch or whine during any of it.”

Antonio’s voice was firm. Lovino continued to stay silent, having nothing to say in retort. At the bottom of the stairs, Antonio took the lead, and they walked to the dining hall one after another. Lovino wore only his sleeping gown, one that had been in his drawers. Antonio was fully dressed in a gray and white ensemble, hair waving at his shoulders. Lovino would have thought he looked handsome, but the sting of the slap on his cheek reminded him of his position on the matter. 

As they passed through the large oak doors, Antonio stopped. He took Lovino by the arm, and watched at the boy flinched beneath his hold. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” Antonio huffed, as if annoyed by the action of Lovino eyeing him wearily.

“Who could be sure?”

Antonio placed a hand on Lovino’s cheek, covering the mark that stood out there. Leaning down, he captured Lovino’s lips with his own. Lovino stood there, unmoving, not pushing the man away but not returning the sentiment, which he had recently been apt to doing. After a beat, Antonio realized the boy wasn’t going to kiss him back, and pulled away. He looked at Lovino steadily, and Lovino presented only enduring pain in his eyes before turning away. 

They ate in silence, once again. Lovino didn’t even inquire to Antonio’s stitches, a fact which settled Antonio’s face into a permanent frown. The boy was being stubborn, showing only disdain for him, but Antonio knew that his tune would change within a few hours. He’d had this surprise planned since Lovino had first agreed to sleep in his bed— it took little effort to have the process sped up, and tonight, Lovino would forgive him. 

He didn’t feel that he had done something wrong for scolding Lovino, or even hitting him. It seemed to be the only thing that would make Lovino realize the gravity of a situation, the gravity of Antonio’s anger in the moment. If Antonio only patted Lovino’s head in response to his disrespectful antics, what would be said of his ability to command respect? What would become of his reputation as a fearless soldier and relentless King? Antonio could not jeopardize his reputation, no matter that sour taste that came to his mouth when he witnessed Lovino cry. 

“ _Lovinito_ ,” he said, setting down his fork. The Italian continued eating, not acknowledging him. “I want to explain something to you.”

“I don’t care what you want,” said the Italian defiantly. 

“You don’t mean that,” was Antonio’s calm reply. “I want you to understand that I don’t hit you because I enjoy it.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Antonio grit his teeth. “I hit you because you disrespected me in public. I let you do it in private, isn’t that enough for you?”

Lovino looked at him briefly before he pushed his plate away from himself, signaling that he was done eating. He didn’t stand, though, and stayed sitting in his chair while he stared blankly at the table. 

The King sighed, placing his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers. “All you have to do is listen.”

“You took my family, my home, my entire  _ life _ away from me, wasn’t that enough for  _ you _ ?” Lovino bit, fiery eyes meeting Antonio’s in an emboldened glare. “You had to take my dignity and pride too?”

“My goal is not to make you miserable.”

“There is no way that I could be anything  _ but _ .”

“You wear fine clothing, you eat delicious food—“

“You are keeping me as a pet, a toy, the only way I can pay back my grandfather’s debts!”

“And I do nearly everything you ask,” Antonio slammed his hands on the table as he stood, making Lovino jump at the noise. “I bring you everything you want! I let you back talk and bitch at me and flirt with that blonde  _ ramera _ . You could go swimming, learn the violin, have a tailor design your personal wardrobe— _ mierda _ , whatever the fuck you want!”

“But you won’t let me go home,” Lovino’s low voice replied, hands clutching the fabric of his gown. 

“No,” Antonio admitted. “I refuse.”

“I wasn’t flirting with Emma, either. She is my friend, the only one I have in this wretched place,” Lovino grumbled, eyes downcast once again. “And if you punish her, I will never forgive you.”

“She doesn’t need to be punished for your actions.”

“I don’t _do_ anything! I didn’t even realize I wasn’t fully clothed until after she had left,” argued the Italian, before realizing it was futile and giving a drawn-out sigh. Both of them had abandoned their plates now, and he wasn’t feeling any more amicable toward Antonio as when the conversation had started. “I only want to see my brother. I don’t want your money, Antonio. And I _don’t_ want to hear you call me a _whore_ ever again.”

Antonio said nothing, taking a drink of his wine. He wasn’t going to give away the surprise, after all. 

“Go wash up,” was what Antonio decided upon, after a long moment. “Mateo will bring you clothes, and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

Lovino pushed his chair from the table and stood, leaving the room without a word. 

Hours later, Lovino stood in the stone paved courtyard. His hair had been slicked back by a maid, even though he had insisted he could do himself, and he wore probably the most expensive outfit he’d been given yet. It was red and gold, with tassels beneath his arms that waved with his every move. His stockings were thick and starched white, and his black shoes had been shined. He was surrounded by people bustling around, placing items here and there, moving potted plants and rearranging seating. 

Lovino didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. 

Antonio was nowhere to be found. Lovino almost thought to stop someone and ask what was going on, but he second-guessed the idea and decided against it. Then, in echoes from the tunneled archways, he heard Antonio’s voice. It was loud, booming, exuberant as usual, and Lovino turned with an expectant but weary gaze. 

“—and it’s lovely in the summer, I think, as it allows for natural light. Lovino’s room is one example of that.”

He heard his own name, and brought his eyebrows together in confusion. 

Antonio rounded the corner, appearing in the courtyard in a navy-blue outfit. But Lovino didn’t spare it another glance. His eyes were glued upon his own smiling brother, who stood beside the King, beaming like a ray of sunshine. 

His heart both jumped and dropped simultaneously. “Feliciano?”

He felt himself move before he even told his legs to go. He was bounding toward his brother, breath hitched in his throat, and Feliciano opened his arms in preparation. Lovino let out a breath of relief when they finally collided, his force enough to make Feliciano stumble backward. 

“Thank God, you’re okay,” Lovino said into his brother’s neck, inhaling the scent of  _ home _ and  _ family _ . “I didn’t know. You wrote, but you would never tell me if you weren’t—“

“Of course I’m okay,  _ fratello _ ,” Feliciano said against him, confusion in his voice as his arms wrapped tightly around his brother. “The King has been sending money, remember?”

Lovino’s eyes blew wide and darted over to the figure behind Feliciano, and Antonio’s gaze met his. Of course he did _remember._ He hadn’t had the slightest clue.

“He set this up?” Lovino whispered, pulling back slightly to look at his brother. He looked healthy, more filled out even. He’d been eating well. “How did you get here? How did you find me?”

“He wrote me a week ago, in addition to your letter,” Feliciano’s eyebrows were knitted together in concern, eyes searching Lovino’s. “You didn’t know? He invited me here, Lovi. I figured he would have told you.”

“He didn’t,” confirmed Lovino, pulling Feliciano’s body against his own once more. He held his brother tightly in his grip, afraid he might disappear. “He doesn’t ever tell me a thing.”

All of the windows of the parlor were open, the night breeze allowing itself to fill the room. Lovino and Feliciano sat with their chairs right beside one another, talking about everything the other had missed. Hour after hour passed them by as they caught one another up, gushing over memories and happenings in the village. A girl down the street had her baby, and there was a new shop in the square that sold the most amazing pastries from France that Feliciano had ever tasted. Lovino told Feliciano about the palace, the clothing, the food, about Antonio’s wound. He left out all of the parts that would have worried his brother, which was most of it. Feliciano told Lovino about Ludwig, their neighbor who visited daily to check on him. Lovino didn’t like it, but it was better than Feli being alone. 

A brief moment of quiet would come every now and again, such as this instance, when both boys paused to take a drink of the wine they’d been supplied with. Then, suddenly, Feliciano asked, “Is Antonio good to you?”

Lovino blinked, wine glass in his hand.  “Why do you ask that?”

“You have a hand-mark on your cheek, and I’m not blind. You flinch every time he comes near.”

Lovino hadn’t had time to fix his face, of course. He had no clue his brother was coming at all. But he’d forgotten about the mark on his cheek, as the first one had just subsided. “He’s temperamental. He told me an elaborate story, that you and I are distant relatives of the royal family, that grandfather owes him debts. And that I have to repay them by living here, doing whatever he asks, the bastard. He didn’t have to lie, I can’t tell the King of Spain _no_ , anyway.”

“Maybe it is true,” Feliciano mused, settling back into his chair. He sighed deeply. “Lovi, if he is mean to you…”

“I don’t want you to worry about me, just worry about yourself,” Lovino assured his brother. “I’m fine. He just makes me work every day for our debts, like I explained, and he isn't even the one who hit me. It was a chore-master, anyway.”

A lie wouldn’t hurt where Feliciano would never know the truth. Whatever would reassure him. 

Lovino was on his fifth, maybe sixth, glass of wine by now. He was talking animatedly with his brother, causing Feliciano to laugh and laugh in a boisterous response. Feliciano still held worry in the crinkles around his eyes, but Lovino chose not to address it. Encouraging his brother’s worry for him would lead to nothing beneficial. It wasn’t as though they could fix their awful situation.

Besides, Lovino was more than just tipsy, and getting up the stairs was going to be a hard feat as it was. 

“I will give you my room,” Lovino was saying, peering outside as the sun set over the hills. They were surrounded by snacks– cheeses, pastries, and anything the boys could have wanted. This was also Antonio’s doing, Lovino was sure. But if he was expecting Lovino’s forgiveness in exchange for some food, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Your room? But where will you sleep?” Feliciano inquired, looking very much like Lovino’s old life in his plain clothing. 

Another tidbit of information that Lovino hadn’t included in his story, the fact that he never really slept in that room anymore anyway. “There are plenty of guest rooms in this giant place. It’s almost as if the King is compensating for something...”

Feliciano laughed at this, but Lovino knew that his own words were far from the truth. 

Lovino guided his brother up the grand staircase, stumbling a few times along his way, glances and stares following their every move. After all, Feliciano was his spitting image, and two foreign intruders were even more bizarre than one inside of a royal castle. And Lovino was being incredulously loud, which probably didn’t help. 

“This room is mine,” Lovino said, arriving at the wooden door. “Mateo is an okay person, so if you are bothered by him, you can trust him. Anyone else, don’t open the door to, besides me of course.” 

“Lovino,” his brother said suddenly, serious tone in his voice. His eyes met Lovino’s, full of concern, and Feliciano placed a hand on top of his. “Are you okay?”

Lovino didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, Feli, obviously. You know I can take care of myself.”

“Sleep here with me, so I know you’re safe,” his brother insisted. “Please?”

“I can’t,” Lovino said quickly. Feliciano resigned, and guilt filled Lovino quickly. “I would if I could, Feli, but the King is... strict.”

A knowing look seemed to appear on Feliciano’s face. Lovino’s brother was not stupid. He quietly processed this new information before carefully proceeding by saying, “If you need me, I am here. I hope he is nice to you tonight.”

Lovino bid his brother goodnight, ashamed of what Feliciano seemed to now know, and not wanting to give him another reason to worry. He made his way downstairs, slowly, his world spinning. He was hot, sweating, and began unclamping the clasps of his couplet as he walked. The halls were dark, with no sunlight gleaming through the grand windows. The occasional servant or staff member passed by, but Lovino was too intoxicated to notice anyone else in the room.

Well, until he saw Antonio. 

Antonio was standing outside of one of the offices that always had the door closed. A white shirt, a navy overcoat, hair also slicked back from his face. He was talking to Mateo and a man Lovino had never met, and was still fully clothed from the day. Pausing behind them, Lovino waited to approach. Interrupting wasn’t generally allowed, and he wasn’t looking for a fight.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Antonio said to the men, finality in his voice. Mateo gave a nod, the man sputtered to agree. “Buenas noches,  _ caballeros _ .”

“Buenas noches,  _ El Majestad _ ,” they said in unison before turning and leaving, talking amongst themselves.

Antonio turned as well, finding Lovino standing behind him mid-yawn. “Oh, look who it is,” he said with a quirked eyebrow. “Worn out?”

“Can I sleep with my brother?” Lovino asked, disregarding Antonio’s question. His words were slurred, even  _ he _ could tell, but his resolve was clear. The Spaniard frowned. “Only for tonight, obviously, Antonio?”

“No,” was Antonio’s short reply. “You know the rules.”

They walked to Antonio’s bedroom, and being fairly drunk, the Italian didn't even realize how whiny his tone had become. But it wasn't fair, the way Antonio denied him everything he wanted, unless it was the most arbitrary request. And Antonio had no regard for his feelings, unless they benefited him! 

Lovino with his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. He felt bold. “You’re so rude,  _ bastardo spagnolo _ . And to think I was having a great day!”

Antonio couldn’t even bring himself to be upset at Lovino, as his voice filled the silence of the stone hall. It was too amusing. He fought back a grin, asking, “Well,  _ Lovinito _ , who do you think is responsible for your day being so great?”

“I don’t care!  _ Non mi interessa! _ My poor  _ fratello _ is alone, and probably scared, and you are the worst,” Lovino rambled on, footsteps becoming louder as he nearly began to stomp. Antonio nodded in mock empathy. “What is this stupid outfit you have me wearing, anyway?”

“You don’t like it?” asked Antonio now, grasping the door handle. “You seem to want to get out of it pretty badly.”

Lovino looked down at his couplet, which hung wide open and exposed his undershirt. He sighed, exasperated. “It was hot!”

“You are just drunk.”

“ _ Your _ outfit is stupid, too!”

“Would you help get me out of it,  _ too _ , then?” Antonio grinned over his shoulder, causing Lovino to flush tomato red and scowl as they entered the room. 

Lovino threw off his couplet, and it found its way to the floor. Antonio shut the door behind them before he snuck up behind the Italian, placing firm hands on the boy’s shoulders. The Italian jolted slightly, wobbly, and demanded, “What are you doing,  _ idiota _ ?”

“You had a nice day, you said?” Antonio asked, ignoring him. He then began to knead into Lovino’s shoulders absently, pressing the Italian’s body against his own. He, personally, had been busy with work all day— but this time with Lovino was always guaranteed at the end of a long work day. For Antonio, that made it all bearable. 

“Of course I did,” Lovino said, a little bit of a bite in his tone.  _ Why is this man giving me a massage, like an attentive wife? _ His cheeks remained flush from the wine, but he still felt hot beneath his clothing. “My brother is here, it was a perfect day. The only thing better would be if I could return home with him!” 

Antonio hummed, rubbing circled down Lovino’s shoulder-blades. He was surprised that the brunet wasn’t putting up a fight, but who didn’t want a massage, especially when drunk? 

“Why are you being nice, jerk? You have insisted on making me mad lately, but now, you bring me my brother and give me a massage. You don't have multiple personalities, do you?"

“I had the surprise of your brother planned long before today,” said Antonio plainly. “I only sped up the process after you got your feelings hurt yesterday.”

“After you  _ hit _ me and called me a whore, you stupid—“ 

“Shh,” Antonio silenced sharply. He didn’t want to hear it. Lovino grumbled something under his breath, but Antonio continued to push the pads of his thumbs into the boy’s back. The boy went silent, mouth agape. “Lay down, so I can continue.”

Lovino obeyed wordlessly, moving to lie flat on his stomach, sprawled out on Antonio’s large mattress. Antonio smiled as he placed himself on top of Lovino’s lower back, straddling the man’s waist. The position was edging upon inappropriate, obviously, and he furthered it by pushing up Lovino’s shirt and bunching it around his shoulders. Lovino tensed at the action, but relaxed as soon as Antonio forced the tension out of him once again. 

He massaged Lovino’s back gingerly, and the man beneath him let out soft groans in response to the knots that Antonio hit. “Why don’t you ever make those noises when I touch you?” Antonio pretended to pout, and Lovino scoffed.

“Because you don’t make me feel as good as this!”

At this, Antonio did laugh, deep chuckles rumbling from his chest. “I could, if you ever gave me the chance. But no, someone has to be stubborn...”

“Stubborn because I don’t want it,  _ logicamente. _ ”

“But you do,  _ mi amoroso _ . Your body tells me,” grinned the Spaniard. “And those eyes, those lips...”

Lovino turned his head, eyeing Antonio with a look that Antonio couldn’t read. “My lips are telling you to kiss my ass, ' _ amoroso' _ .”

“Gladly.”

“Disgusting!”

Antonio laughed again, climbing off of Lovino’s back. The boy looked dazed in his relaxation, even with his taunting. Truly, Lovino  _ was _ relaxed, his back having been released of all tension, but he was warm and dizzy from the wine. Antonio had just been on him, which did not help the issue; Lovino could still feel the heat on his lower back, just near his ass, even though Antonio had removed himself... and now here the man was, looking at him with daunting lust in his eye. 

Lovino considered it. What harm would giving in just a  _ little _ do? Who was he trying to save face for?  He blinked slowly.  _ Nobody _ , he supposed.

A moment of hesitation passed before he relented, demanding, “Come here.”

Antonio looked at him blankly. “What?”

“Here,  _ bastardo _ . Sometime today, maybe?” 

Antonio hesitated as well, unsure of Lovino's intent. But he laid down on his stomach beside the boy, uncertainty in his eye. Their faces were inches apart, but Lovino didn’t plan on keeping that distance long. He'd decided he could blame these actions on the wine tomorrow, when Antonio asked. So he drank in the sight of Antonio’s features; the pink lips, plush yet coarse, the tan skin with slight stubble, the dark hair that fell around his face. It looked soft, and Lovino wanted to touch. So he did.

Reaching a hand out, Lovino carded his fingers into the soft waves. Antonio’s luminescent green eyes narrowed, thick dark lashes highlighting his, arguably, best feature. Lovino said nothing though, only ran his fingers through the shoulder-length hair, admiring the way it’s natural curl recoiled at the lack of tension.

He proceeded to continue this action for a few moments before one of Antonio’s hands shot in to grip at his wrist, stopping the movement. Lovino looked at him questioningly, and Antonio gave a sly smirk. “What is this game you are playing at,  _ tesoro _ ?”

“Maybe I just want to touch you,” replied Lovino, matter-of-factly. "No games."

“I can think of other places for you to touch me.” 

“I’m sure you can,  _ pervertito _ ,” Lovino twisted his arm in Antonio’s grip. “But maybe instead of waiting on me, you should take action yourself.”

Although shocked, as if he were dreaming, Antonio did _not_ hesitate at such a lewd request. Could he really have heard Lovino correctly? The Italian was flipped onto his back, and Antonio found his spot upon him once again, this time straddling the boy’s pelvis. Lovino released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, peering up through his lashes at the Adonis-like figure atop him. Antonio was a handsome man, cursed with a well-built body, the only imperfections being scars that made him look like a hero. His wound, of course, was wrapped in bandages, but Lovino didn’t mind. There was so much else to look at, after all.

Antonio enjoyed his view, a direct look at Lovino’s pink face and neutral scowl. His hazel eyes gleamed with mischief, a look Antonio has yet to see him wear, and his brown hair splayed out across the sheets. Antonio adored it. He could stare at this picture all day. Maybe a painting should be commissioned, he thought.

But he had better things in mind than just looking. He took Lovino’s face in his hand and pressed their lips together with fervor, feeling Lovino’s hands fall onto his chest. Lovino kissed him back this time, actually eager and wanting, and Antonio pushed the boy’s wrists up to pin them.

“I love it when you comply,” Antonio told Lovino, mouth against his lips. “When you give into yourself. Into me.”

“Save it,” Lovino said in reply, flexing against the grip that bound him. “I’m just drunk.”

"Admit that you want this, that you want me,  _ mi amorito _ . Who will hear you in here?"

"God." Lovino's tone was biting as he writhed against the man. There was pressure on his crotch and it was sending sparks of warmth through him, a haze taking over his mind. He wasn't sure how long he could resist in his current state. Antonio's skin was so warm, and inviting… 

"Aren't you going to thank me for bringing your brother to you?" asked Antonio, ignoring Lovino's quip. He nipped at the Italian's bottom lip, earning a noise of protest. 

"Thank you,  _ gracious ruler _ , for doing the  _ one _ thing I asked for!" Lovino replied sarcastically. Antonio frowned, taking this chance to bite harder at the plump, red bottom lip. "Ah, stop biting me, you idiot."

Antonio pulled back for a moment, dark eyes swimming with something Lovino could only classify as lust. He looked long and hard into Lovino’s own gaze, so intensely that it brought heat to the Italian’s cheeks. 

“Lovino," he began, and the Italian recoiled. "Are you acting drunkenly on sober desires?”

“I— what?” asked the brunet beneath him. There were torches lit in the corners of the room that illuminated Antonio’s face from all angles, giving him an eerie glowing appearance. His stern expression was as clear as daylight. 

“You are drunk, as you say. Are you engaging with me because you are drunk or because you secretly want to do so when you’re sober?”

Lovino blinked rapidly, a frown coming over him. “What does it matter to you? You have said time and time again that you don’t care about my feelings when it comes to these… sort of matters.” 

Suddenly, Antonio sat back onto his knees, hands abruptly leaving Lovino’s body. The Italian stared in admonishment.  _ The one time I want him to touch me, and he refuses to do it! _

“I will not force you,” said Antonio simply. “You will not receive my touch until you blatantly ask for it.” 

Lovino shot up, hands supporting his stance. “Are you joking? After all the threats, the assertions of dominance— you refuse to put your hands on me the one time I comply!”

Antonio gave a small shrug. “If you want it, you will ask.”

“Like  _ Hell _ I am asking you for anything, you son of a—“

“Watch your mouth,” reminded the King, eyes narrowed. "You are smarter than that."

Lovino unceremoniously threw himself back against the pillows, frustrated beyond his limit. How many times in one night could this man test his patience? If he had to throw a fit to get his way, he would do it, and without a care; he had a point to prove.

“Come on, ruthless King Antonio _ ,  _ follow through with your word! You are a man who takes what he wants,  _ no _ ?”

Lovino never expected to find himself to be yelling, nor to be taunting the Spaniard to do exactly what he’d dreaded he’d do. But he blamed it on the alcohol, on the fact that he was sporting a boner beneath his sleeping clothes. On the fact that Antonio was a liar. 

Antonio merely frowned. “Do not insult me, Lovino.” 

Lovino couldn’t stand it any longer. What pedestal did Antonio place himself on, out of the blue? He felt tears prick his eyes, having always been susceptible to frustration-crying, and this fact was only accented when he was drinking. He fisted his hands and pound them into the bed, staring at the ceiling. “You’re unbelievable! Who do you think you are? You cannot even keep your word; all of a sudden you are a moral man?  _ After _ you kidnap me?  _ Vai all'inferno!" _

Antonio raised an eyebrow, admittedly unsurprised that Lovino was throwing a tantrum. He’d seen the boy do it many times, even when sober. It was no shock to him that Lovino was emotionally vulnerable as a drunk. “If I wanted a partner in bed who just lies there and takes it, and who cries about it all, I’d bed a noble girl. You are better than that,  _ mi amor. _ You are allowed to enjoy it.

“I don’t want to be better,” Lovino argued, hands covering his face. “I just want— oh,  _ fuck it all _ !”

Antonio was on him once again in an instant, atop Lovino’s body and cornering him in with the hands that propped him up. “What do you want, _mi_ _ corazon?” _

The tears of frustration in Lovino’s eyes threatened to fall, but he held it in with a fierce scowl and a wrist over his eyes. “Don’t call me such stupid names.” 

“I don’t think they are stupid. I will call you what I want," countered the man. Lovino whipped his hand away from his face, letting it hit the mattress in defiance. Antonio’s face was directly above his, staring down into his reddened eyes.

“Tell me to touch you, Lovino, and I will.”

Lovino couldn’t deny the fact that the pressure in his groin was not leaving. If anything, it grew with the more frustrated he got, and it was all Antonio’s fault. He deserved to have to fix it, since he caused it in the first place. Lovino would blame it all on the alcohol, on his state of sobriety. He would blame it on the Devil, on Antonio himself. That could all wait for the morning, though; Lovino had no plans of repenting tonight.

The Italian sniffled, gritting his teeth.  _ He’s taken my pride, this is the least he can do. _

“Fine,” he answered with a quiet growl, eyes meeting the Spaniard’s. At the very least, he would say it in his mother tongue. “ _ Toccami. _ ”

Lovino welcomed every touch, every kiss, the feeling of Antonio’s stubble against his skin. He arched his back every single time Antonio’s fingers grabbed at him, his sides, his hips, his ass— the man was moving in a blur, as though he felt like he was working with a time limit. And maybe he was, Lovino figured when he had a moment to think between Antonio forming love-bite marks on his throat. Lovino wouldn’t let this go  _ that  _ far tonight, if he could help it, but it was getting harder and harder to think about putting a stop to this.

Antonio's breath was warm against his skin, and the room was growing impossibly hotter. Antonio pressed his lips to Lovino's collarbone, nipping and sucking as he kneaded his grip on Lovino's hips over his clothing.  _ "Quiero oír tu voz," _ came Antonio's gruff voice, deepened by what Lovino could only assume was lust. "Talk to me,  _ amadito _ , tell me what you enjoy."

"I told you to touch me, isn't that-- ah," Lovino jolted, feeling two long fingers move to toy with one of his nipples. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropped his jaw, and curled his fingers in the sheets. "Wait, wait, wait--"

"Oh no, don't tell me that now," Antonio mused, and Lovino could feel the smirk against his skin. Antonio was kissing him again within a second, lips pressing roughly to Lovino's own, and Lovino couldn't help the way his lips parted in immediate response. He made an unconscious moan at the feeling of Antonio's tongue entering his mouth. Antonio kissed either brashly or sensually, sometimes both one after another, and Lovino accepted both gratefully right then. 

The wine was making Lovino far more sexually responsive than normal, but he couldn't blame all of his actions, nor his  _ re _ actions on the alcohol. He'd be a liar to try and say that the things Antonio subjected him to didn't affect him in the slightest, even on a regular basis. His body betrayed his mind often, but sometimes it was Lovino who refused to accept the truth. 

Antonio  _ was _ attractive, Lovino was attracted  _ to _ him, and under different circumstances, Lovino would gladly climb him like a damn tree. 

"Where has your mind gone? It's obviously not on my lips," Antonio said, jarring Lovino from his thoughts. He'd pulled away, small, disappointed frown on his face, and Lovino knew his face was likely a mix of deep focus and embarrassment. "What is going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing," Lovino said, and brought a hand to Antonio's hair, if for no other reason than to distract him. "Weren't you in the middle of something?"

That pulled a grin, to Lovino's relief. Antonio resumed kissing him, one hand on his jaw, holding it in place. The other explored more of Lovino's body, raking blunt nails over the boy's skin. Lovino let out a stuttered gasp at the feeling of a hand sliding beneath the waistband on his trousers, which he still wore, for some God-forsaken reason. He had never been touched by another person below the waist, in this manner. He hadn't planned on it ever happening, with his… social preferences and the expectations of society. But King Antonio lived within a society solely his own, where the only rules were the ones he made, and the only expectations were the ones he held. Lovino seemed to be meeting them all, right then. 

"Sometimes I wonder how I did not find you sooner," Antonio was saying. Lovino breathed heavily beneath him, watching the man's eyes wander down his body. His shirt remained pushed up, bunched around his chest, giving Antonio a perfect view of his stomach. "Where were you hiding all this time?"

"Where I have always been," Lovino answered, after he found the air to do so. "In my house, with my family, living my life."

"No,  _ corazón. _ You still do not understand, do you? That is not where you have always been. At one point, you lived here, with me," corrected Antonio, spewing a story Lovino still continued to disbelieve. But his hand was ghosting over sensitive parts of Lovino's body, and his eyes were watching his face. "You were born within these walls. You belong here."

"And just how long do you intend to keep me here?" asked Lovino, meaning to sound stern. But the moment Antonio's hand wrapped around his hardening erection, he lost his venom. He knew his eyes had blown wide, and by Antonio's amused grin, he could judge that the man was looking for a reaction. 

Antonio pressed himself against Lovino's body, hand at work rubbing Lovino's length beneath his linen clothing. It was obscene, Lovino thought, the way his mind demanded for  _ more _ . "Forever,  _ mi amorito _ . I am not letting you go. You will learn to enjoy this,  _ si? _ "

Lovino opened his mouth, intending on protesting, but his shirt was pushed upward and Antonio attached his mouth to one of his nipples, giving attention to that area once again. Lovino arched, unable to contain it, the feeling of a tongue on his chest and a hand on his cock overwhelming him. He whined, a noise we would have rather never heard himself make, and it only fueled Antonio's antics further. 

"No,  _ erróneo _ . Perhaps you enjoy it already."

Lovino wrapped a hand around Antonio's shoulders, steadying himself against the urge to buck into the man's hand like a damn animal. He wanted out of his restricting clothing, wanted to be free of the heat they provided, but he didn't have the words to say it. Antonio was flush against him, their skin slicking slightly together with sweat. Antonio peppered his jaw and neck with kisses, licks, and nips, and continued to lazily rub Lovino off. 

Lovino's fingernails dug into his back when the man applied firmer pressure, eyes tightly shut in pleasure. "Antonio," he pleaded, unsure of just what he was asking for.  _ More _ of something, anything. "I-- ah, mm-- just..."

Antonio resurfaced, looking at him in question, hand stilling. "What,  _ querido?" _

"I just," Lovino tried, panting slightly, his heartbeat having accelerated with his adrenaline. "Will you-- please?  _ Por favor, entiendes?" _

It drove Antonio wild hearing the Italian ask for him in Spanish, and Antonio  _ did _ understand, it seemed, and was feeling generous. He did not make Lovino elaborate, seeing the distress the boy was already in. He pulled off of the boy for only a moment, a second long enough to rid him of his trousers and of his shirt. Lovino complied, moving to make the movement easier. But Antonio could not pounce on him just yet; he took time to scan over every inch of skin he'd been forbidden from seeing for some time now. 

Lovino seemed displeased at this, moving beneath the man's gaze in order to cover up, but Antonio halted him with a hand on his tanned thigh. "No more," he ordered, in reference to the squirming. Lovino frowned, face red, but said nothing. He allowed his legs to be pushed apart, his arms to be moved from his torso. "What have you to be ashamed of,  _ Lovinito? _ I see nothing worthy of embarrassment."

Lovino didn't answer, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. It was one thing to be felt, and another thing to be inspected. He wanted Antonio to carry on with it, but the man was fascinated with his body, it seemed. He ran a smooth hand down Lovino's center, over his naval, further to his groin-- Lovino felt the cold of the air bite his skin at the same time that he shivered from anticipation. 

_ "Hermoso..." _ muttered the Spaniard, the word falling from pink, full lips like it was second nature. "You see, Romano, I have never been with a man before you. I have seen men naked, of course, but you… I get to touch."

"And these naked men," asked Lovino before he could stop himself. The words tasted as bitter as they sounded. "You could have had them as well,  _ no _ ?"

Antonio's eyes flickered back up to Lovino's wavering gaze, a small grin coming over him, pulling at the corners of those lips. "Jealousy, is that what I hear?  _ Dios mío, _ what has come over you, little vixen? How unlike you."

Lovino turned his head to the side in defiance, arms covering himself once again. "Leave it, you idiot, I'll never imply it again."

"Ah ah, you cannot get out of this one so quickly," said Antonio, and Lovino knew he was screwed. He should learn to keep his mouth shut, sober or otherwise. The man edged down, pressing kisses to the center of Lovino's chest, down along his stomach. "Tell me, does it bother you to think of me with other people? A girl in my bed, naked beneath me?"

"Of course not," said Lovino, curt. He would not dare give this man the satisfaction. "Fuck whoever you want."

"So harsh," Antonio quipped, and he pushed Lovino's legs up so that they bent at the knees. The Italian's breath hitched, but he said nothing. "And a man? Someone your age, maybe, inexperienced and naive… would you be jealous of him,  _ Lovinito _ ?"

Fiery eyes narrowed. "Go to Hell," Lovino replied simply. 

And in one movement, he sat up on his elbows, closed his legs beneath Antonio, and brought them to his chest. The man's words should not have made him angry, but they did regardless. The fact that he would even taunt Lovino's feelings in such a way made the boy's stomach turn. He used one hand to shove Antonio back, which did little good, but it allowed him to escape beneath the blankets before the man could grab at him again. 

Antonio stared, blank-face, watching as Lovino all but recoiled into himself. _Well, fuck it all. I pushed too far._ The boy's expression was stone cold, unrevealing of his true emotions, only neutrally displeased as always. Lovino held the blanket around his chin, unwilling to get out once again to grab his clothing. He also refused to meet Antonio's eye, blind rage boiling in his gut and replacing the desire he'd felt moments ago. 

Antonio moved away, a sigh escaping him as he did so. Lovino's eyes followed him as he put out the torches in the room, one by one, before reapproaching the bed. He climbed in on his side, beneath the blankets, and Lovino couldn't help but to tense up at the acknowledgement of his lack of clothing, and Antonio's ability to do as he pleased. But Antonio didn't approach him with any off-handed ideas. Instead, in the near-pitch black of the room, Antonio remained on his side of the bed, shifting to turn onto his side. Lovino let out a held breath, but it caught once more when he felt an arm lay across his torso, and a short, open-mouthed kiss be pressed to his hair. 

Antonio stilled after that, and Lovino laid there, wide awake for hours. 

-

Translations (rough)

bastardo spagnolo - spanish bastard!

non mi interessa - i don’t care!

logicamente - logically!

pervertito - pervert!

vai all’inferno - go to hell!

toccami - touch me ;)

quiero oír tu voz - i want to hear your voice 

erróneo - wrong

por favor, entiendes? - please, understand?


End file.
